On My Way To You
by jenron12
Summary: "She deserves something special… something that will show her that I'm sorry for taking this damn long to get to this point."  Post finale, this is my take on Cal's struggle to tell Gillian how he feels.  EPILOGUE UP.   Chapters 9 and 10 are rated M!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Standard disclaimer**... _I don't own LTM or any of it's characters. That's probably a good thing, because I'd forever be too distracted by Cal / Tim to get anything done. *sigh*_

_Anyway, this is my first try at a LTM fic, and even though it's no where near the level that most of the other writers here consistently show, thanks for reading this and humoring me. Good to know I"m not the only one completely obsessed with this duo. Happy reading!_

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><p>"<em>What are you waiting for<em>?"

It was a very simple question, really. When Emily first asked, so many answers swam in his head that the sheer volume of his own excuses was enough to make him dizzy. _Courage… time… faith enough to know I'll never hurt her_. Emily had accepted his answer that night, and hadn't pressed him at all. When she asked again the next evening, he smiled – more amused by her persistence than scared of his own truth – and waited only a beat before answering, "The right time, love. I'm waiting for the right time."

And so it went in the Lightman house for those first few days after Claire's death. Emily would ask and Cal would answer, always the same, until Emily had grown so sick of hearing the words "_the right time_" that she almost wanted to scream.

"Enough dad," she'd finally insisted one evening. "You love Gillian… the time will be right no matter when you tell her."

Cal sighed. His choices were clear; he could either keep stalling (_which was itself a risk… he didn't think he could survive another Dave_), or he could finally tell her the truth. It was time to put his 'truth or happiness' mantra to the test first hand.

* * *

><p>As a holiday, he'd never really seen the appeal; much too commercialized for his liking. But for a man on a mission to find the magic "<em>right time<em>" to proclaim his love, it would have to do.

And so he found himself knee deep in retail hell just the week before Valentine's Day. Cal was certain he'd browsed through every aisle of every store in the entire DC area. His feet ached, his head was pounding, and his demeanor had long since passed hopeful and settled into an annoying fog of defeat. A few more hours of this, he decided, and he would surely go mad.

There was no shortage of store fronts filled with traditional gifts, and he had no doubt seen them all. From jewelry (_too serious_), to perfume (_too frivolous_), to lingerie (_too soon, of course, but a few delicate pieces had damn near broken his resolve), _none of it fit what he was trying to say - which, as he had rehearsed it in his head more times than he'd ever admit aloud, sounded something like, "Can't you see how much I love you? To hell with the bloody line." Only with dozens more words, of course... he rambled when he was nervous.

It should be easy; that much, he knew. It should be easy to speak from his heart - especially to the woman who had stolen it so absolutely – but it wasn't. Gillian was his center, after all… she had seen him at both his best and his worst, and through it all refused to give up on him no matter how many times he'd stubbornly tried like hell to send her running in the opposite direction (_for her own best interest, of course_). And now it was up to him to push past the boundaries of her self-imposed line and finally tell her the truth about why he'd been behaving like a complete plonker for the last several months. That he no longer had the strength to push her away… and he'd finally found the strength to tear down the walls around his heart.

And so despite the crowds and the nagging voice in the back of his head which had begun to insist that it was a completely futile effort, he continued searching for that one perfect _something _that would help him say what it seemed damn near impossible to put into words.

It was late afternoon when the phone sounded from his pocket. He unlocked the screen, surprised to note the time as he did so (three hours in a mall would try the patience of even the most die-hard shoppers, he decided), and squinted at Emily's name on the display.

"Find it yet?" she cheerfully asked.

Surely she was kidding. "Hardly," he huffed. "Can't find anything good enough."

Emily covered a laugh, having expected as much. "You never think anything is good enough for Gillian."

_Namely me_, he mused, but bit back the words. "True that," he said, somewhat sadly. "Think I'm running out of options here, love."

Emily was confused; she wasn't sure why he was torturing himself over this in the first place, considering it was obvious to everyone who knew them that Gillian and Cal were each equally crazy about the other. It seemed silly to her that he was so hell bent on finding a gift to go along with his declaration. After all, he'd made it perfectly clear in the last several years that he hated the Valentine's holiday – but then again, most people celebrating it alone hated it, so maybe he really _had_ been covering all along. Maybe what he really hated was that he'd never had Gillian as his valentine before.

If left to his own devices, Emily knew there was a very real possibility that her father would wallow in his own self doubt for the rest of the day. "You need to stop over thinking this whole thing already," she insisted. "And explain to me again why you even need a gift at all? Because let's face it, dad, if she was waiting around for you to impress her, she would've been long gone years ago."

"Bit harsh there, Em," he countered, more amused than offended. _Clearly, the apple didn't fall far from the tree_. "I know I don't _need_ a gift," he explained. "It's just that she deserves something special… something that will show her that I'm sorry for taking this damn long to get to this point." He waited a beat and then added, somewhat shyly, "and because I want to make her happy."

Emily almost found it hard to believe this was the same man who faced down criminals and cops and authority figures of every shape and size without batting an eye. She'd heard him refer to it as such once before, and he was right; Gillian Foster truly _was_ her father's blind spot.

"I'd be shocked if she hasn't figured this out on her own, dad," she gently offered. "I mean, I don't know what your face muscles have been telling her, but given the way you totally light up anytime you look at her, or talk to her, or talk _about_ her…"

"That obvious, is it?" Cal interrupted. _Was it hot in there_?

"Completely," Emily insisted. She waited only a beat before adding, "And for what it's worth, dad, Gill lights up too."

"She does?" he asked, grinning at the thought. Of the few times he'd dared to read anything close to that from Gillian (_their whole 'you just called me sexy,' exchange came to his mind immediately_), she'd either been tipsy (_his pulse still raced every time he saw that miner's hat_), or had backpedaled right out his office door. Hard to believe she might have been playing it as close to the vest as he had been.

Emily giggled, breaking his train of thought. "Fourth of July dad," she said, and he heard the smile still lingering in her voice. "Just like you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: _Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has reviewed and/or set an alert for this story. It's so nice to have support, and it's good to know that you all enjoy these characters as much as I do. Thanks again!_

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><p>Mornings at the Lightman Group were fairly routine. Anna was always the first on site, answering phones and making coffee and generally running the show around the office until the rest of the staff arrived. Loker and Torres followed soon after – no doubt flirting or gossiping or engaging in their latest round of verbal sparring. (Gillian usually got a kick out of hearing their banter; and though Cal would never admit it to her, she suspected he felt much the same; reminded them of themselves that way.) When they were between cases, Gillian could usually be found at her desk before 9:00, with Cal trudging in behind her, well, pretty much whenever he pleased. It was his name on the door, after all.<p>

In the early days of their partnership, his lack of a schedule bothered Gillian but she'd come to learn that the best way to deal with Cal's… independence (for lack of a better word) was to accept it. That and the fact that he'd embarrassed her so badly when she dared bring it up (_"Miss me, do you darling_?" he'd quipped in her ear) that she decided to let it go. More pressing administrative matters were always at hand, and Cal would show up eventually. He always did.

On this unseasonably warm and clear morning, Gillian could not resist stopping at her favorite bakery on the way to the office. Just one latte, she promised herself (_chocolate of course_), and then she'd be on her way. When she finally did arrive (_after an unexpected, chocolate chip scone-induced delay_), she was running nearly thirty minutes late but wasn't at all surprised to find that Cal's Prius was nowhere in the lot.

"Good morning Doctor Foster," Anna said, smiling as Gillian approached the front desk with the box of pastries she'd brought along for the staff.

"Good morning Anna," she cheerfully returned; nothing like a little chocolate and sunshine first thing on a Monday to make the day a little brighter.

This was the best Gillian had felt in weeks. She was finally learning to smile again – thanks mostly to Cal, of course. He'd rarely left her side since Claire's funeral, even insisting that she stay in his guest room for the better part of a week ("_I seem to remember spending my fair share of time in yours, love,_" he'd reasoned). She couldn't deny that something different was floating between them lately. And though she wasn't sure she'd ever have the courage to say it aloud, it felt almost like a new beginning for them. She wondered if Cal felt it too.

Gillian walked toward her office, sorting a small stack of mail as she went. It was just by chance that it caught her eye; the tiniest flicker of yellow calling out to her from the side table in the main hallway between their offices. She'd brushed it off at first – didn't turn back to look at it, didn't think much about it at all, in fact. Realization didn't hit until moments later, when she'd just begun work on the newest round of financial statements. _Surely it couldn't have been_…

She lifted her head in slow motion and glanced around her office as if Cal were there with her, waiting to read her reaction. It was almost comical, really. And the fact that she was already blushing was not a good sign; he'd take that and run with it.

"_He wouldn't dare_," she told herself, already on her feet and headed back into the hall. But then again, this was Cal, so of course he would.

It had been polished up a bit since she saw it last, but yes, the yellow object in question was most certainly a miner's helmet. It sat proudly out of place, just waiting for someone to ask why it was there at all. Gillian was suspicious. After all, it's not like a hat could grow legs and walk itself into the building; Cal had obviously put it there himself – and he rarely did anything without a reason. "_What is he up to now_?" she wondered.

Cell in hand, she dialed Cal's number but it went straight to voicemail. She didn't bother with leaving a message. _Could be meeting with a new client_, she thought. _He must not want any distractions_.

"Anna," she called over her shoulder, "have you heard from Doctor Lightman yet this morning? I can't seem to reach him on his cell, and I needed to clarify a few things with the quarterly financials."

"Actually, I passed him on my way in," Anna offered. "He mentioned an appointment with Dr. Wagner - said he'd be in as soon as it was finished."

"Dr. Wagner?" Gillian repeated. _Why would Cal make an appointment with a neurologist and not even tell her?_ "That's odd. He didn't mention anything about that at dinner… " The rest of the words died on her tongue; she didn't have to be a micro-expression expert to read the surprise on Anna's face.

"Anyway," Gillian offered (_best to change the subject, she thought_), "I'll just be in my office if you need me."

"Sure Doctor Foster," Anna replied, smiling as she turned and walked back to her desk.

Gillian sighed; it was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>"What's with the helmet?"<p>

Loker grinned, hovering in the hallway directly outside of Gillian's door; he might as well have grabbed a megaphone and blasted his question to the entire building. Clearly he had attended the Cal Lightman School of Subtlety.

"Good morning, Eli," she offered.

"That was one hell of a case, wasn't it? Must be a souvenir from his time underground," Eli said.

_Oh it's a souvenir, all right_, she thought. _It's just not the time underground that he wants to remember_. She didn't dare open her mouth to reply; best not to give him any ammunition.

"You're blushing… that's interesting," he observed. "Whatever it is, it must be a good memory."

Gillian Foster had been baited by Cal Lightman way too many times to fall for that trap. Eli was a rookie, and she'd learned from the master himself. "Still a practicing member of the radical honesty club, I see," she replied instead. A deflection, yes, but it was the best she could do in the moment.

Eli smirked. "I assume you want me to just accept that little deflection then," he said, "and not press my luck?"

"That would be a correct assumption, yes," Gillian agreed. She couldn't blame him for trying.

"That's pretty much what Lightman told me when I asked him. You two really are a matched set."

Gillian changed the subject, deciding to let the comment pass. "Did Doctor Lightman seem alright to you this morning?" she asked. Clearly, she was the only staff member that Cal _hadn't_ seen yet that morning.

"Seemed a little nervous, I guess, but I wouldn't say it was anything to worry about. Came in carrying a box, asked at least a dozen questions about you, and then left. Managed to insult my shirt while he was here, too," Loker said. "Multi-tasking at its finest."

_So he brought the helmet this morning_, Gillian told herself, _asked about me,_ a_nd then ran off to the neurologist_. He was definitely up to something.

"You know, for two people who are practically married, you and Lightman sure are awfully nervous around each other lately," Eli said as he headed toward the lab.

Gillian's face flamed. "Cal and I are not practically married," she insisted. _Deny, deny, deny_.

"Sure you are, Foster," he shot back. "You're just not doing any of the fun stuff."


	3. Chapter 3

Cal first met Dr. Alan Wagner following the Turley case the year before when he assisted with Cal's FMRI scan at the VA Hospital in Virginia. He assumed the man would just help perform the scan and send him on his way, no questions asked. After all, Cal wasn't sick - wasn't even a patient, really – he was just a man who was fascinated by the science and its benefits in PTSD patients. In a nutshell, it could see the truth, just as well as he could - there was no hiding from an MRI scan, just as there was no hiding anything from Cal.

Dr. Wagner had been equally as fascinated by the science of micro-expression, and he wound up hiring the Lightman Group to help dispel infidelity rumors during his divorce proceedings. Both men shared a mutual love of poker and scotch and all things female, and thus a casual friendship was born. And when Dr. Wagner left the VA a few months later, Cal worked pro bono to help the man vet his staff and demonstrate the benefits of FMRI technology to a handful of investors. Aside from Emily, Alan Wagner was the only person who knew the truth of Cal's feelings for Gillian – and it had only taken one look at those scans for him to see it.

Gillian, on the other hand, knew the man only as a client. Cal had never told her about his MRI scan, and he'd certainly never showed her the slides. He wanted to, of course… had a copy of the damn things saved on a disc and stashed in his office for the first few months, on the off chance he worked up the nerve. But eventually the disc made its way back home with him, and had been safely locked away in a desk drawer, all but forgotten. Cal hadn't looked at those images in months – not until he heard Emily's "Fourth of July" comment a few days earlier. That's when everything finally began to click.

And so when Cal called out of the blue and requested a second scan, Dr. Wagner had been suspicious. _Yes_, his health was fine, and _no_ he wasn't crazy. He just needed the science of it all one more time – needed another scan to help prove to Gillian that his love for her had never changed. That all the sheer and utter _crap_ they'd been through over the past year had all been because he was afraid of losing her. That until now, pushing her away had been easier than taking the risk of loving and losing her.

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><p>Dr. Wagner's office was exactly as he remembered it. The walls were painted in soothing shades of blue, with large pieces of modern art hanging from each one. The whole décor was designed to be as relaxing as possible – to help the patients feel as comforted as possible about having to be there in the first place. Cal was lucky; he was perfectly healthy, and that was more than he could say about the other people in the waiting room with him.<p>

A handful of other patients were seated nearby. They were all somber and serious, and Cal stuck out like a sore thumb. He was jumpy as hell, incessantly drumming his foot on the floor and tapping his fingers against the wooden arms of his chair. Nervous energy, of course, but considering he'd only managed three or four hours of sleep the night before, he really was holding up pretty well. It amazed him how much better he'd slept when Gillian was just a short walk down the hall, tucked safely into his guest bedroom – he'd felt comforted and safe, even though _he_ was the one supposed to be comforting _her._ And since she'd gone back home a few days before, he found it damn near impossible to shut off his brain long enough to get any real rest.

Lost in thought, Cal jumped slightly when a door to his right opened and one of the nurses stepped out with a clipboard in hand. "Cal Lightman," she called, not bothering to offer a smile.

He stood to follow her, gathering his coat and the envelope containing the photos he'd printed from the original scan. She was clearly in no mood for pleasantries, and she began peppering him with instructions before he was even at her side. Then she closed the heavy reception door behind them, thrust a paper gown into his hand, and started to lead him into one of the exam rooms.

Cal chuckled – someone really needed to teach this woman a lesson in bedside manners. "Relax love, I'm just here to get my picture taken," he joked as he walked past her and turned down the hallway that lead toward Dr. Wagner's office. He looked back over his shoulder to find her gaping at him, and then added with a wink, "but I'll still put the gown on when I'm finished, if you like."

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><p>The office door was open, and Cal walked in to find Alan seated at his desk, making notes on a patient's chart. "Your Nurse Ratched could use a little lesson in hospitality," he quipped, catching the older man off guard. "Bloody scary, that one is."<p>

Alan stood and greeted Cal with a smile and a firm handshake. "You mean Rita? Nah, she's fine… just needs a good dose of the ol' Lightman Charm, that's all," he joked.

"Don't think charm will work on that one, doc, although she _did_ try to get me in a paper gown, so maybe I just misread her."

Dr. Wagner laughed, then turned to gesture at the chair in front of his desk as they both sat. He knew it wasn't a regular consultation – Cal wasn't medically ill – but still, something must have prompted him to call late on a Sunday night and request an MRI. Something was definitely up.

"Misread her, huh?," he prompted. "Face-reading skills not as sharp as they once were? Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it. These things happen as men age, and you're on the downhill slide toward fifty, so…"

"Oi! No need to go talking those kinds of numbers," Cal interrupted. "And I've certainly never had any complaints about my skills - face reading or otherwise."

Dr. Wagner sighed – sometimes his British friend could be a real pain in the ass. "Alright, Cal, what gives? You wouldn't tell me anything on the phone, but whatever it is was enough to get me to rearrange my entire morning's schedule to squeeze you in. And I don't think you came all the way down here to flirt with Rita and talk to me about your skills."

"True that, mate," he said, reaching for the envelope of prints he'd brought along. He sorted through the images until he found the split screen showing Gillian's face and his lit-up brain. "Remember this?" he asked, setting the photo face up on the desk in front of him.

"Of course I do." Alan tried not to laugh. He also remembered the reaction when _Cal_ saw it for the first time. He'd been standing in front of the computer monitor, drinking a bottle of water he'd swiped from the fridge in the nurses' lounge. When the screen flashed that particular image, Cal had damn near choked. He coughed and sputtered, and wound up spitting half a mouthful of water right onto the screen.

Cal looked sheepish; the water spitting incident hadn't been his finest moment. "S'pose we can try it again, then?" he asked. "Just for the sake of science, of course."

"Absolutely. And if you start choking again this time, I'm sure Rita would be more than happy to perform a little CPR."

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><p>An hour later, Cal walked out of Dr. Wagner's office with the results of his new MRI. He still displayed a 'Fight or Flight' response for Zoe, and love for Emily – no surprises there. Gillian on the other hand, triggered everything… passion, love, loyalty, fear – all of it. Almost every emotion that a person could feel was triggered when he looked at her. No wonder he was so bloody nervous; it was Fourth of July all over again on that little screen.<p>

Nearly all of the trigger photos had been identical to the first scan, but at the last minute, Cal decided to throw Wallowski into the mix. When her trigger photo was flashed, the results were exactly what he expected: shame. No desire or friendship or curiosity of any kind , only shame. He had no qualms about his feelings for the detective – whatever nonsense he'd encouraged between them was long dead and buried, and he hadn't even spoken to the woman since Claire's case had been closed. But even so, he wanted proof – just in case Gillian ever doubted it. Cal wanted forever with Gillian, and he wasn't taking any chances.

He tucked the disc containing the new MRI scans into his coat pocket and hopped back into his car for the short drive to the office. By now, he knew Gillian had seen the helmet he'd dropped off earlier in the morning. He knew she wouldn't be expecting it, that she would be a little bit embarrassed and a little bit confused – she might even think he'd completely lost his mind. But he knew one thing for sure: this time, whatever reaction he saw on her face couldn't be blamed on his very expensive scotch.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **Thanks again to everyone who has left reviews, or clicked the little alert button. You all really know how to make a girl feel good!_

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><p><em><strong>"I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."<strong>_  
><em><strong>- Walt Whitman<strong>_

Ria Torres had always loved that quote. She thought it was striking in its simplicity… almost powerful. Shortly after she was first hired at the Lightman Group, she spotted it engraved on a small stone paperweight in Gillian Foster's office. It was placed discreetly on the top shelf of her bookcase, next to a framed photo of Cal and Emily.

The women had been chatting in Gillian's office one evening after closing a particularly stressful case. Lightman had damn near gotten himself killed (_once again_), and Gillian had fought like hell to save his ass (_also, once again_). It was like a pattern with those two, she decided. Lightman was drawn to danger like a moth to a flame, and Foster was drawn to Lightman in much the same way. And without much thought at all, she made an offhanded comment about it. "Does he even realize what you do for him?"

Gillian had grown quiet then, her face wistful and relaxed. She stood from her desk and crossed to the bookcase behind her to retrieve the small stone. Without a word, she handed the object to Ria.

It was elegant and understated – jagged edges with a smooth, polished surface into which the words had been etched. She'd never noticed it before. "This is beautiful," she said as she handed it back to Gillian.

Gillian smiled softly and nodded in agreement. "It is, isn't it?" she said. She turned away to place it back on the shelf, letting her hand brush along the edges of the photo beside it. "It was a gift from Cal."

And just like that, Ria understood. She'd been blind to it until then. "You obviously mean a lot to him, Dr. Foster," she offered. It was all she could think to say.  
>Gillian gave a slight blush in reply. She waited a beat before answering, somewhat shyly, "We mean a lot to each other."<p>

Ria often thought about that conversation when she saw Foster and Lightman together. They were like Yin and Yang - her rationality a perfect balance to his impulsive edge, her sensitivity a perfect match for his brash wit… neither whole without the other. They protected each other fiercely, and if push came to shove, she had little doubt that one would kill for the other. She'd seen it in his eyes during the Jenkins case, and in hers when he'd nearly died at the hands of Eric Matheson. The sheer _fierceness_ between them was like nothing she'd ever seen.

The Lightman Group staff had a running bet as to when their bosses would finally wake the hell up and see what was so plainly obvious to everyone else – and during her first few months at the Group, Ria had been in on most of it. But after that evening in Foster's office, her perspective changed. Lightman wasn't blind to it at all, she realized. He loved Gillian - he just didn't think he deserved her. And that was the root of their problem.

So when Loker came bursting into the audio lab that morning with an earful of the latest gossip, Ria tried to ignore it. She changed the subject and tried to distract him, but Eli was having none of it. He insisted that Foster seemed a bit… off. He tossed around dozens of ideas trying to figure out why Lightman's crazy yellow helmet caused such a reaction in Gillian, and it was all she could do not to laugh at him. For such a smart guy, he could be really stupid sometimes.

She remembered the mine explosion case very well, because while Lightman had gone underground to play canary, she was back at the office helping Foster save his ass. And when the FBI had gone home satisfied, leaving the women to enjoy a bottle of scotch and some good conversation (_both at Lightman's expense_), she watched Foster let her guard down.

Lightman's voice had woken her hours later. Through the lowlight of the late evening, she could see them on the balcony, wrapped in each other's arms and swaying slightly, as if dancing to a silent song. He spoke in hushed tones, relaxed and happy as he held Foster close. Neither heard a sound as she left the office that night.

Ria didn't want to speculate as to what else might have happened that evening. But she knew one thing - that helmet was a symbol of something private between Foster and Lightman, something that had remained unspoken until that night. And if Lightman was bringing it into the office, then maybe he was finally ready to move forward.

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><p>"That was one hell of a case, wasn't it?"<p>

Gillian had been clicking away at her keyboard, completely oblivious anything other than the budget reports that were opened on the screen in front of her, and the question caught her off guard. _Déjà vu,_ she thought. _But at least Torres has a little more tact_.

She sighed and swiveled her chair toward the doorway, slightly amused. "Something I can help you with, Ria?" she asked as she waved the other woman into the room. "Or are you just here to ask me about the new décor in the hallway? It seems to be quite the topic of conversation around here this morning."

Torres blushed, as if she felt bad for prying. Not bad enough to leave it alone all together, of course – but Gillian had to give her credit for at least knowing there were boundaries she _should_ respect. Cal was playing with fire by bringing that thing into the building, she decided. And it annoyed her that he'd essentially gone AWOL for the past few hours and left her to deal with the fallout. Well, that and the fact that she missed him. He never ignored her calls, but for some reason his phone was still off.

"Guess Lightman wanted a souvenir, huh?" Torres said, smiling sheepishly as she lingered near the doorway. "It's not every day that a guy goes underground to solve a murder."

Gillian quirked a brow, her mouth drawing into a line as she watched the younger woman. _This one is tricky_, she thought. _Cal taught her well_.

"No, that certainly doesn't happen every day," Gillian agreed. It was just a different kind of deflection; she wasn't giving anything away for free.

Both women grew quiet then; Gillian's hands were folded in her lap, legs crossed casually as she watched Torres trying to read her. She couldn't blame the woman for trying, after all. They were all so well trained in observation that a little curiosity was only natural. And to her credit, Torres had earned a bit of a free pass - without her help, Jimmy the Mouth would have been thrown to the wolves and Gillian would be missing him under entirely different circumstances. The woman deserved much more than half a bottle of Cal's expensive scotch.

After several minutes, Torres sighed and gave a small, disappointed frown, as if there were pieces of a puzzle she couldn't quite fit together. Just as she was about to turn away, Gillian spoke. "I never got a chance to thank you, Ria," she said. _She also deserved more than a thank-you, but at least it was a start._

Torres shook her head a bit – she didn't understand. "Doctor Foster?" she questioned. "I'm not sure I know…"

"The FBI would've nailed him without your help that day," Gillian interrupted. Her voice was serious now, as if she didn't want to acknowledge the possibility aloud. "And I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated what you did for him… for me. _For us_."

Torres didn't know how to respond. She grew quiet again as the two women stood facing each other; a simple "You're Welcome" didn't do the moment justice, but she needed to say _something_. And then she saw it – the simple stone which still sat on Gillian's bookcase, just as it had on that evening a few years earlier. Torres crossed the room toward it, almost without thought. It stood between two frames now - Cal and Emily on one side, and Cal and Gillian on the other. The newest photo had been taken at the Christmas party, right after he returned from Afghanistan, and it captured a completely candid moment between them. Gillian's hand lingered on the side of his face as he smiled at her. _Love_. It was beautiful.

Ria held the photo, studying it as if she had seen something in their faces that had never been there before. And then she walked back to Gillian, frame in hand, and held it out to her. "He loves you, Doctor Foster," she said, speaking softly. "You both deserve to be happy."

* * *

><p>Cal stood outside Gillian's doorway and watched as she held their picture in her hands, studying it. He knew that photo well. Emily had taken it just after his return from Afghanistan – she'd given a copy to each of them. Said it was about time for the two of them to see it for themselves… the spark between them that everyone else had always been able to see.<p>

When Cal left for Afghanistan, he had been terrified. _Completely, absolutely terrified_. He'd walked away from Gillian a thousand different times before, facing a thousand different unknown fates, and he'd always come back. Always. But war? He knew there were some things that even Cal Lightman couldn't come back from.

When he did return – when he finally saw her, safe and warm and there with him, body and spirit – he could finally breathe again. He was whole.

_They'd wasted so much time_.

He watched as Gillian placed the frame back on her shelf again, running her hand along its edges one last time. _God she was beautiful_, he thought. Sometimes it literally stole his breath.

She turned toward him then, startled for only a second before he saw her face erupt into a smile.

_How had he ever doubted this?_

"Glad to see you're still in one piece," she said casually, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she approached him. "I take it your appointment this morning was nothing serious?" She stopped a few paces away, and he knew she was leaving it up to him to close the rest of the distance.

_So Anna had told her afterall... he should have expected as much_. "Oh it was serious, love, but not medically so," he said cryptically.

"Care to enlighten me then? You've been acting very strange this morning, Cal... even for you."

Her voice had taken on the teasing tone he'd grown to love over the years. "Strange?" he said, feigning mock hurt as he held his hand to his chest. "That one hurts, Gill. Truly, truly hurts."

Gillian sighed. She knew that tone - he was flirting with her. He had a secret, and he wanted her to work for it. The man was nothing if not stubborn. "So you won't tell me then, I take it," she said.

"All in due time, darling," he replied, pleased with himself. He had a plan, and he was damn sure going to stick to it. "Patience is a virtue, after all."

A beat passed between them, somewhat heated as they watched each other. Cal held one hand behind his back, the other in his pocket, and bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. _More nervous energy, _he thought_. _

Gillian eyed him suspiciously, but didn't comment on it. She switched topics instead, just as he'd hoped she would. "Your redecorating efforts have intrigued our staff," she said.

"Have they now?" he answered, trying to fight back a grin, but failing miserably.

Gillian caught it, and her own grin began to appear. She was playing at something, just as much as he was. "I must say, I was quite surprised to see that helmet here this morning myself.

And that's when he did it. He pulled the helmet from behind his back, propping it on his hand as he approached her. "This old thing?" His voice was like honey, accent thick.

_Slow, even steps, _he reminded himself_. Don't forget to breathe_. He was nervous as hell, and trying desperately not to show it. There was no out this time… no scotch, no danger, no adrenaline of any kind on which he could blame her reaction. Rationalization was a real bitch sometimes, and he could use it with the best of them. This time, whatever he saw in her eyes would be taken as truth, and not pissed away just because he was scared.

Instantly, he saw her eyes leave his and focus on the helmet that was still in his hand. And then he took another step, deliberate and measured, and placed it on his head. A few more short steps and they were face to face, right in the middle of her office. And he watched, amazed, as her breathing grew shallow and her eyes began to dilate.

_Fireworks_.

He remembered that night on the balcony as if it had happened moments ago... the way she looked at him that night was exactly the same as she looked at him now.

_Line be damned._

Cal couldn't help himself… the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You get more beautiful every day, Gillian."

The little voice in the back of his head began to nag him then – trying to make him understand that this was not really the time or place for his little experiment. It was the middle of the day in the middle of her office, for God's sake. But he didn't care anymore. He didn't care who saw them. Quite frankly, he didn't care if the building burned down around them, so long as he could stand there in that moment with her.

Gillian blushed and smiled and couldn't help but look away, just from the heat of the moment and the heat of his stare. She knew Cal didn't expect a reply, and under any other circumstance, she probably wouldn't have given one. But the thought flew into her brain and out her mouth before she could stop it. "I've always loved a man in uniform," she said bashfully, as if she was surprised to hear the words aloud.

And then before Cal's brain could even register what was even happening, she was moving closer. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and then back again, asking permission.

_Jesus Gillian_, he thought. _You've never had to ask_.

Cal thought his heart might thunder right out of his chest. She moved even closer then, clasping her hands in the labels of his jacket and tugging slightly, as she closed her eyes as stretched upward toward him.

_Finally_.

A laugh sounded behind them then, and Cal wanted to scream. Literally scream. He had a bunch of pent up adrenaline, and sure as hell needed to come out one way or another.

"Jesus, Lightman," Loker called sarcastically from outside the office door. "Could you _want_ her more?"

It was rhetorical, of course, and Loker didn't even slow down. He was long gone by the time the words registered; he didn't think for a second that Cal would bother to respond.

Cal didn't flinch. His eyes held Gillian's and she watched as the smallest mischevious grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. And then he said it. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear, of course, but that was fine. He wasn't talking to anyone else – he was talking to Gillian. No one else mattered now.

"No, love," he said, staring directly into her eyes as she watched the last traces of hazel give way to black. "I don't even think it's physically possible for me to want you more than I do right now."


	5. Chapter 5

Gillian had always been attracted to Cal. At first it was just physical; he'd breeze into her office at the Pentagon for one of their weekly, mandatory meetings, and his personality would fill the entire room. There was an energy about him that just drew her in – all confidence and charm on the surface, with smoldering eyes that pierced into hers every time they met. It was almost addicting. And the more she learned about him, the more she _wanted_ to learn.

She hadn't expected they would become friends. Best friends, even… so close that sometimes it was hard to tell where his life ended and hers began. They were simply _that_ connected. By the time his marriage imploded and hers was breaking apart, Gillian began to realize that she was falling in love with him. It scared the hell out of her.

_Hence, the line. _

She'd only been trying to protect herself, but it turned out to be a double-edged sword. If she kept him at arm's length, he couldn't break her heart… but her heart was breaking anyway, because she as too afraid to take the risk.

It killed her to watch him with those other women, to imagine what he did with them, fast and frantic behind closed doors. It was all meaningless – convenient, mindless shags, he'd called them. And for the longest time, she couldn't understand _why_. Why would he hurt her like that, practically flaunting it in her face? They'd been having lunch one day, right after his little fling with Clara, just when things were starting to go back to normal between them. She'd made a sarcastic comment about carving another notch on his bedpost, and he'd turned to her with sadness and shame in his eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way, Gillian_,_" he said, before standing and walking away.

_Sometimes she really hated that damn line_.

There was no denying that things between them had changed lately. When Claire died, Cal was her rock – her strength. He held her as she cried, listened when she needed to talk, and made her smile when no one else had even taken the time to try. Everyone else meant well, of course… but they all treated her with kid gloves, as if she might break. Cal was different. He knew she might break, but he also knew he'd be there to put her back together again if she did.

Finally after so many years, the line between them was starting to fade.

* * *

><p><strong><em>"I don't even think it's physically possible for me to want you more than I do right now."<em>**

Gillian's heart was pounding so loudly that she thought it might leap right out of her chest. Cal's eyes were locked on hers, staring with intensity she'd never seen before… it was all raw, uninhibited desire and something else she was almost afraid to read. _Love_. The look alone threatened to steal her breath. It was the middle of the day, in the middle of her office, and almost every fiber of her being was shouting that they absolutely could _not_ do this now. They absolutely could _not_ give in to temptation, because in that moment anything – even the slightest touch of his lips against hers – would surely break the dam of emotion that they were both fighting like hell to control. And once it broke, there would be no going back.

She needed to say _something_, but her thoughts were all fuzzy. Cal felt so strong and warm pressed against her, and she felt his hands brushing slow caresses across her back. It was blissfully distracting. Without even realizing she'd done it, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, leaning in to him even further.

The sound of her sigh broke the silence between them. Eyes still closed, she felt rather than heard him chuckle against her. "Aye aye… such a pleasant sound," he said, his eyes alight with mischief when they met hers.

Gillian smiled and blushed, gaze dropping to his chest. At some point, she'd released his lapels and was now smoothing her fingers over the wrinkled fabric, drawing small circles on his chest. She couldn't decide what was better – his hands ghosting over her, or the solid feel of him sliding beneath her palm. Either way, she didn't want it to end.

"Can't help it," she replied. "It's a pleasant feeling." Her tone was as playful as his eyes.

Cal sucked in a deep, sudden breath… _excitement_. "Bodes well for us, darling, considering we haven't even kissed." he whispered.

_There went her heart again. _

A few beats passed between them, and he gave a groan in protest before taking one reluctant half-step backwards away from her. His arms were still around her, but looser now. It was almost like he was fighting with himself – knowing they should break apart while they still could, but wanting to drag the moment out longer anyway.

"Much as I'd love to stand here and hold you all day, love, I think it's probably best if we don't give the staff a free show," he said. "Reputations to protect, and all that."

Gillian nodded in agreement and stepped back as well, catching his hand in hers as he dropped it from her back. She squeezed it, smiled at him, and then joked, "You've never been worried about your reputation before… does that mean I've finally turned you into a good boy?"

She turned toward her office door, thinking she'd gotten the last word. But she took only one step before Cal caught her wrist and pulled her back to him again. His eyes bore into hers before he placed his mouth against her ear. "You and I both know that's not bloody likely, Gillian," he breathed. "Not after toeing that line for all these years."

Gillian fought off a shiver, her mind racing almost as fast as her pulse. Their conversation had gone from heated to playful to sweet all in the span of a few short minutes, and now he was driving it back again, like a damn roller coaster. It was absolutely thrilling.

Satisfied that he'd rendered her speechless, Cal backed away again. She could see small slivers of hazel returning around the edges of his pupils, and noticed that his breathing was returning to normal. The look between them held, though – it was obvious he had something else to say. He took her hand in his, glancing down at it as their fingers twined. He was nervous about something, which seemed odd to her after everything that just happened between them.

He exhaled a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?," he asked, looking as nervous as she'd ever seen him. "There's something I need to give you."

Gillian smiled, clearly surprised. "I'd love to have dinner with you," she answered.

Cal visibly relaxed then, his posture and his breathing both returning to normal. He'd practically torn off her clothes with just a look a few minutes ago, and now he was looking at her like a teenager with a crush… she thought it was sweet. Whatever was going on between them, it was clear that she was in for one hell of a ride.

She turned away from him then, completely intrigued and positively tingling, and couldn't resist one final comment. "Patience is a virtue, right Cal?" she said casually, glancing back at him over her shoulder as she walked toward her office door.

"'Course, love," he quickly agreed.

"Well, that's good, because I'm usually a pretty patient woman."

Cal started to grin… started to suspect that she was up to something. "Is that so, Doctor Foster?" he said, playing along.

Gillian nodded, eyes wide and blatantly flirting. "But just for the record? If Loker _ever_ interrupts us like that again, I'll fire him before you get the chance."

And with that she walked out into the hallway, leaving him slack-jawed standing by her office door.

_Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough._


	6. Chapter 6

Emily bounded into the kitchen and tossed her backpack on one of the chairs with a thud. The noise startled her father, who was up to his eyeballs in dinner preparations and hadn't even heard her come home. He jumped at the sound, and then turned to face her with a muffled, "Bloody hell Emily… a little warning next time."

She smiled and glanced around the room – it was obvious he'd gone to a lot of trouble to make everything as perfect as possible, and it all looked wonderful. She was quite impressed. "Well, well," she said, "who needs a fancy gourmet restaurant when you've got the next best thing right here."

Cal just stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. His mouth was opening and closing as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out. He looked completely rattled. "I didn't even think of that," he finally muttered. "A restaurant would be better, wouldn't it, love? Quite a bit fancier than all of this. Let me just –"

Emily watched him fumble with the ties on his apron – the floral one he always wore because Gillian had, once upon a time, insisted that it was "_cute_." He was already reaching for the phone book, muttering something about getting a last minute reservation, when her laughter stopped him cold. "Would you please relax," she insisted, stepping toward him to take his cell phone from his hand. "I just meant that it looks great in here, ok? Everything looks great."

Cal sighed and put the phone book back in the drawer. "Yeah?" he asked, unsure.

This was all new to her. Her father had dated more than his fair share of women over the years, and not once had she ever seen him like this. He was nervous and hyper and bouncing around like a cross between a lovesick puppy and a man who'd had one dozen too many cups of coffee that day. Or tea, in his case… but still, the imagery was the same.

"Gillian will love it, Dad," she said sincerely. And then just for good measure, she patted his hand, waited until she had his attention again, and added, "I'm happy for you."

Cal grinned at that, and puffed up a bit as the nerves began to settle. He glanced around the room, looking pleased; pots and pans steaming on the stovetop behind him, two wine glasses standing at the ready, and one white box with a shiny red ribbon standing expectantly nearby. Throw in a little candlelight and some soft music, and everything would be set. "Guess it does look pretty good in here, huh? Not too shabby at all."

He turned back toward the stovetop, lifting one silver lid to stir the contents inside. Then he checked his watch again and let out a string of British idioms that she was pretty sure translated as, "Gillian will be here any second and dinner isn't ready yet." _So much for calming down_, she decided. He finally stepped back from the stove a few minutes later, wiped his hands and took a few deep breaths. And the lovesick puppy was back…

"Crisis averted?" she giggled.

"Oi! Don't make fun, love. I'm nervous enough without the jokes."

Something in her expression must have changed then, because he started to study her. Really study – like he was reading her, even though she'd asked him so many times not to do it. They'd both agreed a long time ago that he would trust her… he would trust her and she would trust him, and there would be no need for face-reading of any kind. But given the circumstances, she didn't have the heart to call him on it.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, gesturing somewhere around her eyebrows. "The last time you had that expression, I ended up divulging my biggest secret. So out with – what's on your mind?"

Emily shook her head; sometimes it was like living with a psychic. "Alright, alright," she relented. "I just wanted to talk to you about a few rules, that's all."

"Rules? You mean like, 'No drinking, no drugs, no boys? Thought we covered all that a long time ago. Policy still stands, I'm afraid."

"Funny, dad," she said dryly. "Actually, I wanted to talk about a few rules for you."

He looked amused… curious, and slightly apprehensive, but mostly amused. "There's a novel idea," he replied. "I must say, I'm rather intrigued. So go on then… what sort of rules did you have in mind?"

"Rule number one," she began, holding up her index finger to illustrate. "No more games."

He was back to staring again; he squinted at her, as if that would make the words more clear. "What exactly do you mean by games, Em? You mean like poker? Because the last time I tried that, Gillian just about kicked my…"

"Not those kinds of games," she interrupted with a huff. "I mean the whole 'I'm not good enough for her so I'll push her away thing' that you've been doing. Don't mess with her, dad. Gillian doesn't deserve that, and neither do you."

Cal just nodded his head in agreement and swallowed. She knew she struck a nerve with that one, but it needed to be said, just in case. She didn't really think it would be an issue, but old habits were hard to break and her father had a decade-long habit of pushing Gillian away.

"Rule number two," she continued, holding up two fingers to illustrate again. "You have to promise me that you won't try to read her all the time. You have trust her to tell you if something is wrong – don't analyze everything to death, alright?"

He scoffed. "I normally can't read her anyway. And the last time I tried that, Gillian just about ripped my…"

"I'm starting to notice a pattern here, dad," she noted. It was a good thing Gillian loved him – Emily didn't know any other woman who could keep him in line.

"I'm almost afraid to ask if there's a rule number three."

Emily giggled, nodded yes, and held up three fingers. "This one is my favorite," she said. "Rule number three – don't screw it up. Listen to your heart and do what it tells you. Don't let all the other stuff get in the way."

"So long as there's no pressure," he joked. Then he pulled her into a hug, kissed the top of her head, and said with complete sincerity, "I promise, Em. This is it for me, yeah? No more games… I'm done with all of that. Understand?"

Emily looked pleased with herself. "Good," she said. "Then my work here is done." She tossed her bag over her shoulder, grabbed her keys off the counter, and reached up to kiss her father's cheek. "The girls will be here to pick me up any second… you know how to reach me right?"

Cal nodded, obviously a bit uncomfortable. They had already had this conversation, but still… she knew that part of him felt like he was kicking her out just so he could be alone with Gillian. "I know what you're thinking," she offered, "and no, I don't feel like you're kicking me out. This was my idea, remember?"

"I remember. And I appreciate it, darling… thank you for the privacy."

"You're welcome, but really it's all about self-preservation. The way I see it, this is just about the only way I can keep my sanity. Your privacy is just a secondary benefit."

"Keep your sanity, huh?" he replied. "You really think it'll be _that_ bad?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Let's review the facts here, dad," she began. "You're completely, head over heels in love with Gillian. You've known this for a very long time and have kept all these feelings bottled up for years, right?"

"'Course, love," he said. "But I really don't see…"

Emily raised her hand to interrupt him. "Anyone with a pulse knows she feels exactly the same way."

Cal just blinked at her, not understanding her point.

"And tonight, she's coming here to enjoy a candlelight dinner, wine, and a little gift exchange." She gestured toward the box, amused by the fact that her father was actually blushing because of its contents. "Then, you're going to tell her how much you love her. Trust me, dad… I don't want to be anywhere _near_ this house after that conversation."

Cal quirked a brow at her in surprise, as if to say, "_Why not_?" but he didn't verbalize it.

Emily sighed – clearly she needed to spell it out for him. "There are some things that kids do not need to know about their parents, ok? And the walls around here are thin," she said pointedly. "The less I know about your… _enthusiastic feelings_… for Gillian, the less therapy I will need in the future. Fair enough?"

Cal was embarrassed; he hadn't thought about it that way. Truth be told, he hadn't thought much past getting through dinner and telling Gillian that he loved her - anything that didn't involve laughter or her running right out the front door was just gravy. The whole point of the evening wasn't to seduce Gillian, after all. He wanted her desperately, but he was also _in love_ with her… baby steps were fine with him, as long as they could take them together. He wanted to make sure she knew that this was it for him – no more bullshit, no more games. He wanted to be with her, always – and the ball was completely in her court.

"Fair enough," he agreed.

A car horn sounded from the driveway, and Emily hugged him one last time before heading toward the door. Just before she rounded the corner, he called to her. "Ask me again, Emily," he said.

She turned back toward him, understanding exactly what he meant. "Do you love her?"

He smiled at her – an honest to goodness, light up his entire face kind of smile – and answered, "With all my heart." There was no hesitation.

* * *

><p>Gillian pulled into Cal's driveway just a few minutes early – which was really a small miracle, considering she'd spent the better part of thirty minutes obsessing over what to wear. She was excited and nervous, and more than a little bit curious… all the signs were pointing to the fact that this could very well be <em>it<em> for them. No more line, no more waiting, no more fear. That's what she wanted, anyway.

The anticipation had damn near driven her crazy all day. She'd racked her brain trying to figure out what he could possibly have to give her… whatever it was, it was serious. Besides that, she didn't even know _where_ they were going – Cal was keeping every single detail to himself, for some reason. In all honesty, she really hoped they would stay in. Just a cozy, candlelit dinner at home, where there would be no more… _interruptions_ of any kind. The thought alone made her blush; she was getting ahead of herself. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. _Focus_.

A moment later she stood at Cal's front door and rang the bell. Yes, she had a key – and yes, more often than not she just let herself in. But everything about this evening was so different. There was no telling what was waiting for her on the other side of that door, and part of her thought it best to give Cal fair warning that she had arrived. For all she knew, he wasn't even dressed yet... and with just that fleeting thought, she felt herself blush again. _Damn it Gillian_, she scolded herself. _Calm down_.

* * *

><p>Cal checked the clock <em>again<em> - it just wasn't moving fast enough. Ten minutes felt like an hour, and he thought he might go completely crazy just waiting for her to arrive. He'd rehearsed everything in his head at least a dozen times since Emily left, just trying to get the words right, but he still wasn't satisfied. Maybe he'd just have to wing it… and hope like hell he didn't sound like an idiot. Words weren't exactly his forte, after all.

He took one last look around and smiled, catching sight of her headlights as she pulled into the driveway and parked. The soft strains of Miles Davis had just begun to play when he heard the doorbell ring a moment later. _Showtime_.

He opened the door to find Gillian looking completely radiant. Her black wool coat was tied tightly around her waist so that he couldn't see what she wore underneath, but her tall, sleek heels told him that it was definitely a dress. And for a moment, he felt way too casual in his sweater and slacks. But then she smiled shyly at him, a faint blush barely visible on her cheeks, and it was like a switch had been flipped. In that moment, he realized that the only thing that mattered was the two of them… not the words, not the clothes, not the music. Months later, he would never remember what he'd even been afraid of in the first place. But he would always remember the way she looked, smiling at him in the moonlight.

He grinned at her and stepped aside, all traces of his earlier nerves now gone completely. Then he opened his mouth to tell her exactly how beautiful she looked, and she beat him to it. "Don't you look handsome," she said, stepping past him through the doorway and unfastening her coat.

_Handsome_. Gillian Foster had called him many things over the years, but that was a first. And right then, he decided that if his smile got any wider, it would quite literally split his face in two.

By the time his mouth caught up to his brain enough to speak, he only managed a quick "Why thank you, love," before she'd removed her coat.

_Oh dear God_, he thought. _She wore the pink dress_.

_The_ pink dress. The one that had practically stopped his heart the last time he'd seen it… the one she wore when she told him how happy she was that she was finally divorced and single and in charge of her own life.

_She must be trying to kill me._

"My God, Gillian," he finally managed. "You're stunning."

Words had never seemed so inadequate, but it was the best he could do in the moment. She seemed pleased, though, and that's all that mattered.

He stepped toward her then, arm outstretched to take her coat and hang it on the rack by the door. His back was turned toward her for only a second, and when he turned around again, she was _right there_. Right against him, eyes wide and sparkling.

She didn't speak at all. She was breathing faster now…shallow. In her heels, her height matched his and they were _so very close_. And then just like he'd imagined it so many times before, her hands trailed a path up his arms and came to rest on his shoulders.

Only this wasn't his imagination. This was real, and she was there with him, beautiful and vulnerable and finally – after so many years of waiting – _finally_ ready to take this step with him.

His heart was pounding in his ears, and when his eyes met hers he was almost lost. "I remember the last time you wore that dress, darling," he breathed, accent thick.

"I told you I was happy, didn't I?" she asked. Then as his arms wound around her, she leaned in closer and whispered, "I'm still happy, Cal. Right now, right here, with you… I'm happy."

He let out a shuddered breath and rested his forehead against hers, completely overwhelmed by how very _right_ everything suddenly seemed. Because it was Gillian, and it was always supposed to be like this- they'd just gotten lost along the way. "I won't screw it up, love," he promised. And then he simply leaned forward, threaded his hands through her hair, and kissed her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: **_Thanks again for all the support with this, guys... I appreciate it so much! Chapter 7 coming soon! :)_**


	7. Chapter 7

Cal's lips against hers felt like nothing she could have imagined. Everything about it was just so damn right. It was new and exciting, and unbelievably sensuous – and she had an overwhelming sense of completion, as if _this_ was what she'd been missing for so long. He felt like home.

Her hands roamed across his back, stroking upwards to his shoulders as they kissed. His muscles tensed beneath her touch, making a stark contrast with the slow, sweet burn between his mouth and hers. She felt him twine one hand through her hair as the other began a soothing caress against her neck - and then without even realizing it, she parted her lips against him and gave a tiny little sigh of encouragement.

On a groan, Cal pulled away before the kiss could deepen any further. He framed her face with his hands as their gaze locked. "Jesus, Gillian," he whispered, breathing deeply.

She smiled, leaning in again to press a soft kiss against his lips as she stroked the nape of his neck with gentle fingers. "It bodes well for us that you're nearly speechless already," she said. "I can't wait to see what else is in store for us this evening."

His hands ran down her back and around her waist as he pulled her even closer. His accent was rough as he spoke into her ear. "Neither can I. And trust me, darling - this is only the beginning."

She felt the heat rush to her face immediately, unsure whether it was his voice or the innuendo that caused it. Either way, Cal definitely noticed. He took her hand in his and began to lead her further into the house, and she caught the smirk that he was trying to hide as he turned away from her.

Gillian closed her eyes and tried to focus. Between his accent and the fact that he smelled so incredibly good, she could barely think… or rather, she could barely think about anything other than how much she wanted to kiss him again. "I have a confession to make," she said. She followed along just a half step behind him as they walked toward the living room. He was still holding her hand, his right laced with her left.

"A confession, huh? Might have one of those myself," he replied.

She grinned, pulse racing. "Care to share?"

"Not quite yet, love. Dinner first, then maybe I can be persuaded to tell you."

They crossed into the living room, and just as he finished speaking, she saw it… all of it. All the little touches he'd placed throughout the house – the music, the flowers, the candles. She'd been too wrapped up in him to notice anything else until now. He'd transformed the place. "Cal… this is beautiful," she said, drawing out the words on a shuddered breath.

In her periphery, his reaction was relief – he grinned and puffed up his chest, nervous tension leaving his body and causing his limbs to go all jumpy for a second. It was sweet, to think that this confident, charming man had been nervous about putting all of this together for her. She'd had glimpses of this Cal before; the Cal who cared for her when she was sick or hurting or afraid. And it was always wonderful – he was wonderful. And it made her ache a bit, thinking that maybe they could have had this all along, if only they both hadn't been so damned stubborn.

She gripped his hand a little tighter and faced him with wide eyes. "I was hoping it would be this," she said. "Yesterday… when you invited me to dinner… and we almost… I mean, if Loker hadn't…"

She couldn't get control of her words long enough to form a complete sentence, but it wasn't because she was nervous; it was because she was so positively giddy and overwhelmed.

Cal grinned at her, obviously proud of himself. "Lousy timing, that one. Let's just hope it's not a pattern, yeah?"

Gillian just watched him, loving the look on his face now that he'd finally dropped his mask. He was happy – _genuinely_ happy, in a way she'd never seen before. Even his voice was lighter; the tension he always carried with him had completely faded away. It struck her then how things had shifted again, just as they had in her office the day before. They'd gone from intense and passionate, to sweet and playful in just a few minutes. They were standing together in his living room, surrounded by an entirely romantic scene, and yet neither of them was nervous at all. That kind of balance was rare, but then again so were they, and maybe they really could have both. What they had together was already intimate on so many levels – it only made sense that a romantic relationship would strengthen their friendship, not smother it.

He caught her staring and pulled her close again. His hands gripped her waist and her head tipped back a bit in surprise. Not missing the opportunity, he leaned in to press a line of gentle kisses against her neck, from her jaw line to her ear. "Tryin' to read me already," he breathed, accent thick. "We haven't even made it to dinner yet... pace yourself."

She fought off a shiver and pressed herself further into his touch. It was _so_ damn distracting… the entire world could have ended around them and she wouldn't have cared at all. At that moment, she had only one conscious thought. "Dinner can wait."

Cal almost growled. "Gillian Foster, are you tryin' to seduce me?"

"Says the man with his lips on my ear," she replied.

He didn't miss a beat. "Touché, love. I could put them some place else, if you'd like."

_And there it went again… back to intense_. Gillian's head was spinning and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so unbelievably excited. Her trademark blush was back with a vengeance and she gave a tiny little sound that could only be described as a squeak. _An actual squeak_. If she'd been able to focus on anything else besides his very talented mouth, she probably would have been embarrassed.

Cal pulled away from her and smirked at her reaction. He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, smoothing over the color that had faded into a light pink. "Just something to think about," he said innocently, and then he placed his hand against the small of her back and began to lead her toward the kitchen. "Dinner first, love. Then dessert. And then…" He didn't finish the thought, letting the words hang between them, implication heavy.

_The man is a master at innuendo_, she decided, but bit back the words as they rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen. Then, she was speechless for an entirely different reason.

She'd always known Cal was a good cook – it was something he didn't share with many people, but he'd never kept it a secret from her. Over the years, the two of them spent many an evening together in his kitchen, cooking and laughing and just relaxing together. He'd introduced her to curry, to shepherd's pie, and he must have tried at least a dozen times or more (_all unsuccessful, of course_) to convert her to his beloved beans on toast.

As she stood there with him now, hand in hand in that very same kitchen, a thousand memories flooded her. And in the forefront of them all was an image of him from several years ago, trademark floral apron tied tightly around his waist. They'd been debating something – she couldn't remember exactly what it was about… but she remembered the end their conversation word for word, as if it happened just yesterday.

"_A man only bakes for one reason, Foster," _he'd insisted_. "To impress a woman."_

She'd rolled her eyes at him, shook her head, and sighed. "_What about shepherd's pie? That's baked. It even has 'pie' right in the title."_

"_Doesn't count."_

"_Oh really? And why is that?"  
><em>

"_Has meat in it."_

"_That's the deciding factor, huh? So if you invite a woman here for dinner one day and she finds some kind of rich, decadent baked dessert – something completely meat-free – then that means you're trying to impress her?"_

"_You," _he'd corrected_. "No need for generalities, love. The only one I'd ever do that for is you. No one else could ever be worth it."_

Cal stood next to her, holding her hand in silence and waiting patiently. A moment later, Gillian dropped his hand and took a few steps forward, further into the room toward the center island where it sat. It was the most decadent looking chocolate cake she'd ever seen… dark and delicious and perfect. She smiled again and shook her head slightly, half in disbelief and half in surprise. "You baked this for me?" she asked. Which was silly, really, because _of course_ he did.

And then he nodded, arms outstretched as he reached for her again. "'Course I did, love. It's meat-free and everything."

"I can't believe you remember that. What's it been, Cal? Four? Five years ago now?"

He pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips and then spoke softly. "No one else could ever be worth it, Gillian."

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><p><strong>AN: **_**To be continued... and I promise, the MRI scans WILL show up in chapter 8. Meant to do it in this one, but this chapter ended up going in a different direction than I'd intended. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! You guys are awesome. :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: _**Thank you all so much for the reviews and kind words. It is much appreciated! And now on to chapter 8... which is by far the longest one yet. Enjoy!**_

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><p>Cal sat in silence, smiling as he watched Gillian savoring the last bite of her dessert. She pulled the fork from her lips and grinned at him, then used the back of the utensil to pick up the tiny little crumbs left behind on the plate. When not a speck remained, she placed her fork on the table and sighed, relaxing back into her chair with her eyes closed.<p>

She looked beautifully charming, and though she'd probably never admit it to him, Cal could have sworn he heard her moan a little bit, just under her breath. "Satisfied?" he asked cheekily.

Gillian brought her hands in front of her mouth shyly and then gave a nervous laugh. "If you keep cooking meals like this, you'll never get rid of me," said.

"All part of my master plan, love," he said. He took one last sip from his water glass and dropped his napkin on the table next to his plate. Between them, the bottle of wine still sat in the ice bucket, untouched. It caught his attention just as he began to stand – made him wonder if her reasons for refusing it were the same as his.

He must have drifted off a bit, because he heard Gillian clear her throat, and when his eyes shifted to hers, she was watching him with a soft expression. "Penny for your thoughts?" she said.

Cal stood then, reaching across the table for her hand. Their fingers laced automatically. "It's ironic, really," he said. He gestured absently to the wine bottle, waving it off a bit dismissively with his free hand. "Kind of figured we'd plow right through that one, love. Nerves, and all that. But now it seems… completely unnecessary."

Gillian nodded knowingly but didn't elaborate.

A quiet beat passed between them as their eyes held. Then Cal took a deep breath and placed his hand against the small of Gillian's back, effectively turning her toward the direction of the living room. She must have misinterpreted things, cocking her head at him and furrowing her brow in confusion. It was quite possible that she read anxiety on him when it was really just resolve. He was ready… ready to tell her what he'd imagined telling her for years. And he wasn't nervous at all – he was completely content. Completely, utterly happy, in a way that made him want to throw open the front door and shout it out into the darkened streets. He fancied that she might really enjoy that, actually – like a scene from a sappily romantic movie or something. And the night was still young… perhaps he'd do just that in a bit. Half his neighbors thought he was completely bonkers anyway; to see him in the front yard shouting to the entire world that he was head over heels in love with Gillian wouldn't much change their minds now.

He laughed a bit, carried away by the thought and Gillian just stared at him again. "What is with you?" she said, her tone teasing. "Care to let me in on the joke? A minute ago you looked half scared, and now you're giggling."

"Men do not giggle, Gillian."

"Riiiggghtt," she said, exaggerating the word sarcastically as she grinned at him. "Just like they don't bake. It's good that you're teaching me these things, Cal."

"A bit sassy tonight, are we? Well then, fine. I just won't give it to you."

Gillian's mouth dropped open and she stopped in the middle of the doorway, just outside the living room. Her cheeks began to color slightly and she stuttered a bit, and only _then_ did he realize the double entendre that had left her dumbstruck.

"I mean the gift, darling," he said, tone conveying his embarrassment. "Remember our conversation yesterday? I told you I had something to give you, and I meant it literally. Wrapped it with ribbon, even."

He mentally kicked himself and walked her through the threshold, toward the couch. The box was sitting nearby, but she hadn't seen it yet.

Gillian just blushed again (_adorable, it was_), and sat quietly on the couch as he went to retrieve it. She didn't speak with words, but her expression spoke volumes to him. Excitement, mostly. He also thought _that_ was adorable.

Cal grabbed the box from the table and took a second to bump up the volume on the stereo. Not loud enough to be distracting, of course… just enough for a bit of atmosphere. With the box now in his hand, he took a seat next to Gillian and turned his body toward hers slightly.

He thought they must have made quite the picture. Gillian looking refined as ever, completely lovely with her long, lean legs crossed demurely; and him, somewhat awkward and bouncy, black sweater and slacks a stark contrast to her beautiful dress. His arm draped over the back of the couch behind her and his knee grazed against her calf as he fidgeted a bit, trying to get comfortable.

All the words Cal planned to say jumbled in his head like a verbal traffic jam, all wanting to come out at the same time. He didn't know where to start. He could feel Gillian watching him, waiting. And then his pulse sped up and his hands began to sweat… which was crazy, really, because he had absolutely no doubts. No second thoughts of any kind. And the only fear he had at all was of saying the wrong thing – of choosing words that made this moment somehow _less_ than what he wanted it to be. (He had quite the history of sticking is big British foot in his mouth all the way to the ankle, after all.)

Cal felt Gillian's hand against him, resting on his knee. She squeezed, drawing his attention back to her and away from his thoughts. "Use your words," she said gently. Her expression was serene – not judging or pushing him, just reminding him that he was there with her and that everything was alright. _God, he loved her_.

"I must have rehearsed this a thousand times in my head," he began. "Where we were, the words I chose… the way it would finally feel to tell you everything that I've wanted to tell you for so damn long."

Her hand had moved to his now, and she stroked the back of it with her fingertips as he spoke, drawing absent patterns against his skin. She watched him with wide eyes, her breath becoming shallow.

"This is for you, darling," he said, glancing shyly at the box that rested between them. "It's something I should have given you quite a long time ago."

Gillian slowly pulled her hand away from his and picked up the box. She slipped the red ribbon from it, smiled at him bashfully, and looped it around one finger so that both hands were still free to handle the box. Then she raised the lid and swallowed nervously, placing it off to the side along with the ribbon. The inside of the box was lined with tissue, kind of like a makeshift little nest to keep scratches at bay, and she lifted her gaze back to his with a smile as she reached inside to part the layers. Cal returned the smile, heart thudding loudly in his chest. He fought the urge to speak just yet, focusing instead on the expression she wore as she turned her attention back to the contents of the box.

The frame was hinged like a book, the type that held photographs side by side and was designed to be placed on a desktop or shelf, rather than hung on a wall. It was still closed when she lifted it, and Cal grabbed the now-empty box to toss it aside along with the lid. Gillian's eyes held an unspoken question – part confusion, part hope – and she ran her fingers along its edges gently before opening it. When she did, he watched her eyes widen… heard her sharp intake of surprised breath. And then he swallowed thickly as she spoke his name on a sigh. "Oh, Cal…" she murmured.

Cal had chosen a design that held four photographs. The photos on the top right and bottom left were both from the MRI scans. The images each showed Gillian's beautiful face in the left corner, and displayed the date in the top right, making it obvious _what_ had triggered the reaction and _when_ it had been triggered. And she knew exactly what they were – knew the technology, knew the science. The surprise on her face was endearing; he brushed his hand across her cheek, stroking softly with his thumb and catching one lone tear that trailed slowly across it.

The other two photographs were candids she'd never seen before. The first was taken years earlier, on the night of Gillian's birthday just a few months after Cal's divorce was finalized. He'd planned that entire evening – it remained the one and only time he'd ever attempted a surprise party. And he'd thrown himself headlong into planning it, partly because it served as a welcome distraction from his broken marriage, but mostly because he'd known exactly how much it would mean to Gillian.

The photo caught the entire group of them – their staff and colleagues and personal friends – all milling around excitedly and shouting surprise just as she entered the room. Gillian smiled broadly, her eyes fixed only on Cal and an expression of pure joy on her face. His arms were outstretched toward her, his expression an exact match of her own, and the photographer clicked the image just seconds before he folded her against him in a tight hug. Even back then, they'd only had eyes for each other.

The second photo was much more recent. Cal had found it quite by accident; he'd been checking video footage at the office few months earlier – just backing up some files and reviewing the monitor feeds. He'd almost forgotten about the camera above the balcony; nothing much ever happened there anyway, so there was very little activity ever triggered on the security recordings.

They stood in the moonlight, face to face under the glow of his yellow helmet, and the photo caught the look that passed between them – intense and passionate and so very _raw_. A casual observer might not have noticed much about it at all, but Cal sure as hell did. Gillian took his breath away. After all those years, they _still_ only had eyes for each other.

Gillian ran her fingers over the images of the scans, as if she couldn't believe he'd had them done even once, let alone twice. "Told you it wasn't medically serious," he whispered. That seemed to break the tension a bit, because Gillian let out a breathy laugh. She raised one hand to cover his and brought it to her lips, kissing the tips of his fingers and then his palm, before letting them both drop entwined against her knee.

"This is beautiful," she said. Her eyes glistened as a few tears threatened to spill, but she didn't seem to care and she didn't glance away. She just watched him, somehow sensing that he had more to say.

Cal took a deep breath and ran his hand against the first image, the one taken on Gillian's birthday. Then he shifted closer to her, turning so that the front of his calf rested against the front of hers. "Do you know what I remember most about that night?" he asked.

He saw her give an almost imperceptible shake of her head in reply, but she didn't speak. "I remember how it felt to hold you. How warm you felt against me, and how amazing you smelled, and how soft your hair was against my neck. All of it Gillian – I remember all of it. Couldn't tell you a bloody thing about the rest of that party. But that moment when you came through the door and straight into my arms? I swear to God, Gillian, _that_ was it. That was when I fell in love with you."

His voice broke then, and his breath began to come out in exhausted waves. He'd never felt more exposed in his life. He was awestruck by the look on Gillian's face – there was no surprise of any kind. Just a powerful sense of calm… she was beautiful and serene, and she was smiling at him in a way he'd never seen before. She looked positively radiant.

"The hardest thing I've ever done is respect that bloody line, darling, because I wanted you so badly. I loved you and I needed you, and I craved you in a way I've never felt with anyone else in my life. And I thought I could handle it… loving you from a distance. I thought I could hide it and no one would ever know."

Cal sighed and ran his hand over the second picture – the one showing the first MRI scan after the Turley case. "And then this happened," he continued. "I was completely head over heels in love with you and I couldn't even hide it from a machine, much less from anyone else."

Gillian pulled her hand away from his and cupped his cheek in her palm, her thumb brushing against the soft skin at the corner of his eye. Only _then_ did he realize she'd caught a tear. She was still smiling at him, still looking at him with the most gentle eyes that said more in silence than most people can say in a thousand words. _Love, unconditional_.

"Fireworks," she said simply.

And Cal laughed then, nervous tension leaving him in one long, drawn out breath. "My thoughts exactly, darling," he agreed. "And it scared me to death. That kind of emotion, you know? It's powerful. And it was _me_ and _you_, Gill. Love is always a risk, but with us? The stakes were so bloody high. Our friendship, the business… I was terrified of losing you. Terrified of finally being able to love you, and then losing you anyway."

"You pushed me away," she said. It wasn't a question at all, because the answer was obvious. _Of course_ he pushed her away. _Of course_ he'd known exactly what he was doing. And _of course_ he knew it hurt her… but in his own way, he'd done it to protect her. And she understood that now.

"I never wanted to hurt you, love. All of the nonsense – the terrible way I treated you for all those months, God I wish I could take it all back. I was a bloody fool. And that's why I wanted the second scan," he explained. "I needed you to see that it's always been fireworks, Gillian. Always."

Gillian was crying now, a few silent tears escaping despite her resolve to hold them back. Too much emotion, he decided. She looked the tiniest bit sad and for a moment he assumed she was remembering all of the utter crap that had happened between them in the last year. _So much wasted time_. But then she shook her head, and dabbed at her eyes, and told him simply, "The line was my fault, Cal. You tried to protect me, and I pushed you away. I made up this stupid line to try and protect myself and protect my heart and I could see that it hurt you. That _I_ hurt you."

Cal knew exactly what she was talking about; that night in her office before she and Alec divorced. He'd placed his hand on her arm and she must have seen something even then – something in his face that he hadn't been able to hide. And so she hid behind the line in much the same way that he hid behind his actions. They'd just been trying to protect themselves.

"I hated that damn line," she admitted. And it caught him off guard, but before he could react she was moving in closer to him. She set the frame on the side table and looped both arms around his neck, pulling herself flush against him. They clung to each other, her face buried in his shoulder as he breathed in the scent of her soft hair.

When they broke apart, Cal framed her face with his hands and she rested her palms on his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweater between her fingers. He looked directly into her eyes, feeling more peaceful in that moment than he ever had before. And then he pulled her just a fraction closer, so that her lips hovered millimeters away from his own. "I love you, Gillian, with my entire heart. It's always been you, darling. And I'm so sorry that it's taken us this long to get here."

Cal could feel her pulse hammering away beneath his touch. He could feel her warm breath against his lips, could see the blue of her eyes give way to black as desire warmed her skin. And he had never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted Gillian in that moment. She was beautiful and vulnerable and looking at him with an honesty that he'd never seen before.

"You stood with me after the Knowlton case… after we saved that girl. Do you remember that? You put your hand on my shoulder, and stood with me in the cold air that night, and you let me cry. Somehow you just knew that I needed you, Cal... how did you know that, anyway? How much I needed you to comfort me and hold me and tell me it was alright to _feel_ everything. You knew exactly what I needed, and you gave it to me without question."

Gillian's voice cracked and he saw fresh tears prick at the corner of her eye. She blinked rapidly, causing one to break loose before he caught it with his thumb. She smiled sweetly at the gesture, took a deep breath, and tightened her grip on him. And then she spoke. "I fell in love with you that night, Cal. And I've fallen a little bit more in love with you every day since then. It's always been you, too."

His lips met hers in a flash – soft and warm and delicious. And he was moaning into her mouth, hands roaming everywhere at once, from her face to her throat, down the column of her spine, and back again. One arm curled around the small of her back and his free hand cupped the base of her neck, anchoring her tightly against him, as if he were almost afraid she would slip away from him – that he would blink and find it to have all been a dream.

He felt Gillian part her mouth against him. He felt the smooth, velvety glide of her tongue brushing against his bottom lip, seeking entrance. And he responded immediately, reacting instinctively to her touch. His body knew nothing but an almost primal drive to get closer to her, to explore and to learn and to memorize. To take his time showing her exactly how much he loved her… how much he would always love her.

Gillian's slender fingers mapped his chest, stroking over the black fabric of his sweater. He felt her sigh against him, melting into his touch as his hands ghosted up her back, and then around her ribcage, over the sides of her breasts. And then she gave a tiny little whimper into his mouth – the sound alone was addictive. Made him wonder what other sounds she would make in response to his touch. And then she did it again, and he pulled away suddenly. He rested his forehead against hers, took several deep breaths, and tried like hell to slow everything down. He'd spent the better part of a decade fantasizing about this, and he'd be damned if it was going to happen on his couch. Not tonight, not for something so special.

Gillian's eyes were closed and she took in quick, shallow breaths. "You have no idea how much I wanted you that night on the balcony, Cal," she whispered. "You looked so damn sexy in that ridiculous hat."

He pulled away from her slightly, knowing it would make her open her eyes again. And then he stroked the side of her face with his thumb, delighting in the tiny shiver that ran through her. "God knows how badly I wanted you, Gillian… how badly I've always wanted you. It took everything in my power not to kiss you that night."

Gillian pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, then along his jaw line, and finally against the shell of his ear. She breathed into it, causing him to moan into the side of her neck. "Why didn't you?" she asked.

"Scotch is bloody fantastic for a lot of things, darling, but clear decision making is certainly not one of them. And I wanted you to remember it. For as many nights as I dreamed of having you in my bed, I wanted to be damn certain you'd remember every moment and every touch."

Gillian didn't reply; she just pressed one more lingering kiss against his lips and then stood from the couch. And for a split second, Cal felt a moment of panic as she started to walk toward the door. He stood on shaky legs, trying to follow her, terrified that he'd misread something and that she was going to leave.

But then she reached the foot of his staircase and stopped. She put one hand on the banister, one foot on the first step, and cocked her head towards him again. And slowly, he felt the blood returning to his face – felt like he could breathe again. She wasn't going to leave. He loved her, and she loved him, and all of it was finally real.

She grinned at him then, in a way that had all of the blood instantly rushing from his face again, and traveling decidedly south. _Bloody hell…_

He took several quick steps toward her, not wanting any distance between them. When he reached her side, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers just as she'd done to him earlier. He was about to speak, about to tell her again how much he loved her, but she didn't give him the chance.

"I guess it's a good thing we're both perfectly sober tonight," she breathed. Then she simply turned to walk up the stairs as he followed closely behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: _Warning - This chapter is rated M! Trust me! I hope I did these two justice... I was aiming for detailed, but without pure smut or really graphic language. Not that I'm against either of those things, but I just didn't think they fit with the rest of this particular story. Anyway, it's definitely M. And it's the longest chapter yet. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews, words of encouragement, and alerts. It really does mean a lot. And now, on with the chapter..._**

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><p>As Gillian turned to climb the stairs, she caught Cal's reaction from the corner of her eye. He stood slack-jawed for just a few seconds – sweater still wrinkled and askew from where she'd grabbed it earlier – and his eyes widened in disbelief that <em>yes<em>, she really was leading him to his own bedroom, and _yes_, her intentions were exactly the same as his.

In a flash, he'd sprung into motion and she heard his footsteps fall in line behind her own. She could feel his eyes on her body, openly appraising her now that there was no fear of being caught. And it made her feel powerful… knowing that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. It was downright intoxicating.

At the top landing, she reached out for his hand and he caught her off guard when he circled her wrist and pulled her back towards him again. Cal's chest was pressed against her back and he wrapped one arm around her waist. She stumbled a bit, letting him control the pace of their movements. He swept the hair from her neck and gathered it off to the side, over her left shoulder, and then he bent down to place his lips against the soft skin just below her ear. She felt his mouth pressing against her, soft and soothing and in direct contrast to the rapid beat of her own heart. His breath warmed her skin - made her melt backwards against him, molding into his body. She was so completely consumed by his touch that for a moment she forgot that they hadn't even made it to the bedroom yet. And when she realized that they still needed to walk down the hallway, the impetuous part of her brain began screaming that they could just stop there and drop down to the carpet, and she'd be happy as a clam.

She heard herself whimpering softly, totally amazed at the feelings Cal could evoke in her in just a matter of seconds. His lips and tongue stroked the length of her neck, gently teasing, and she felt him smile against her skin each time she made the sound. Every sigh, every moan – all of it just spurred him on. Both of his arms were wrapped around her now, kind of like a makeshift bear hug. He pulled her so tight against him that it was hard to know where he ended and she began, and she was keenly aware of every single part of him pressed against her from behind. _Every single part_. Her knees were wobbly and her head was swimming, and she had absolutely no idea how they'd managed to arrive outside his doorway without her collapsing upon the floor.

Cal pulled his lips from her skin and stepped backwards on a groan. Gillian turned into him, so that they finally stood face to face, and she instantly pulled herself flush against his body. His hands lingered at her waist, and he squeezed in response to the feel of her eager fingers sliding up his chest. Then she looped her arms around his neck and pulled, crashing her mouth upon his in a heated frenzy.

The feel of him was addictive. Every movement, every touch, every press of his body against hers only stoked her higher… made her crave him in a way she'd never felt with anyone else. She was desperate and yearning and she poured all of it into him as they kissed, needing to show him how much this night meant to her. How much _he_ meant to her.

Cal kissed her deeply, stroking his tongue against hers as she clutched at his shoulders for support. She let one hand drop to his waist and run along the smooth leather of his belt. Just as she reached the buckle, Cal let out a frustrated moan and pulled back to frame her face with his hands. His pupils were black and fully dilated, and Gillian watched him struggle to steady his breathing – to slow their pace before they both lost control and wound up naked and panting in the hallway, against his bedroom door.

A beat passed between them, and she watched as Cal's expression began to change. It caught her by surprise at first; she could still see raw desire, but now it was more – it was deeper somehow, like passion and need and sheer _hunger_, all rolled in to one. Gillian gasped, amazed by his intensity; it literally took her breath away.

Cal blinked and swallowed thickly, and then his mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he was struggling to find the right words to fit the moment. Gillian fought the urge to speak for him. Instead, she moved her hands away from his belt and raised them to his hair, running her fingers through it and then downward, against the sides of his face. She cupped his cheek in her palm and stroked the soft skin with her thumb, and then Cal gave her the sweetest, most genuine smile – one that tugged at her heart and made her knees weaken even further. Through his eyes, she could plainly see what he was trying to tell her. That he loved her… that he was _in love_ with her. And that he intended to take his time showing her the depth of his feelings.

He leaned in slowly, pressing soft, gentle kisses against her cheek, then her jaw, and then at the corner of her mouth. "I love you, Gillian," he breathed. And then he placed his lips on hers once more, and reached behind her to open the bedroom door.

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><p>Gillian followed Cal through the doorway, keeping her fingers laced through his. They'd both been damn near ravenous a few minutes ago… just seconds away from hauling each other to the floor and tearing their clothes off. But <em>this<em> was markedly different. It was delicate and loving – the perfect culmination of everything they'd both been waiting so many years to experience together. Fast and frantic could come later… tonight was about sweet discovery.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows, casting the room in a soft glow. Cal saw Gillian's eyes widen in surprise and then shift to the curtains, but she made no move to close them. She'd always been a little self-conscious in front of a lover - she was a 'lights off 'kind of person, and always had been. But standing there with Cal, only moments away from what she knew would be the most intimate experience she'd ever shared, she felt totally relaxed. He made her feel safe and beautiful… loved beyond measure. And she had no hesitation.

He gestured toward the windows anyway, silently asking her if everything was alright, and she nodded. She drew her hands lazily up the length of his arms, skimming over the lean muscles of his biceps and his chest. "I want to be able to see you," she whispered. "I want to be able to see _us_."

At her confession, she felt his pulse thudding faster beneath her palm. She saw his pupils dilate just the slightest bit more, and for a moment she wondered if it was because of the low light or because of her. But then his tongue snaked out to wet his lips and she found her answer in his reply. "Couldn't have said it better myself, darling," he breathed.

Cal's hands found their way to the back of her dress, riding low on the curve of her spine. He dipped his head towards hers and kissed her, slow and sensuous, taking time to savor the feel of her body. She was supple and delicate with curves that fit him better than he ever dared to imagine, and in that moment all he wanted to do was explore her – to learn what she loved and what she craved.

He drew his tongue across her bottom lip, seeking access, and she opened to him instantly. As his mouth caressed hers, Gillian's hands began to wander. She stroked over his chest, enjoying the feel of his pectoral muscles, firm and somewhat jumpy beneath her touch. She brushed her hands against his back in long, sweeping strokes, and then downward, tugging his hips firmly against hers so that the length of him pressed against her, right where she wanted him.

On instinct, Cal broke their kiss and let out a low growl from deep in his throat. "Anxious, are we?" he teased, smirking as he ground himself against her again.

Gillian drew a quick breath and then released it on a whimper as his hand traced her spine, slowly moving upwards towards the top of her dress. "You have no idea," she sighed. And then she edged her hands under the hem of his sweater and began to push it upward until it bunched under his arms and he pulled it from her, swiftly yanking it over his head and dropping it in a pile at his feet.

At the sight of his naked chest, Gillian grinned – her nostrils flared as she sucked in deep, rapid breaths, and her eyes practically danced across his skin. Cal had never seen her like this, and he loved it. And in that moment the only conscious thought in his brain was that her dress could not come off fast enough.

She traced the definition of his abdomen with hungry hands. Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the inked band around his bicep and then, in turn, to the each of the other designs on his shoulder and forearm. She loved the look of them – their dark, intricate lines only added to his allure and made her pulse race just a bit faster. He looked downright sexy.

Cal definitely noticed her reaction, and he loved it. Loved the look in her eyes as they swept over him, loved the gentle trembling of her fingers as they stroked against him. And when he felt her tongue reach out to taste his skin, slowly tracing a path over the pattern on his shoulder, he had to clench his fists just to fight off the urge to throw her on the bed and take her, then and there.

Gillian felt his muscles tensing, and she smiled against his skin but did not pull away. She continued kissing her way across the front of his shoulder, over the curve of his neck and then finally stopped at his throat, leaving warm, wet trails with her lips and tongue. Her hands roamed freely between his chest and back – she couldn't get enough of him, and in that moment all she could think was that he still had on entirely too much clothing. She dropped one hand down to his belt again, her movements growing fast and frantic as she fumbled with the buckle.

She slid the leather through the silver clasp and it made a soft, scraping sound – one that instantly caught Cal's attention and snapped him back into action. When his eyes locked with hers, they were as dark and alive as she'd ever seen them. She felt him drag his fingers upward, over the curve of her hip and the length of her back until he caught the tab of the zipper at the back of her dress and began to tug it down. He made slow, steady, deliberate movements that teased her and left her with the strongest urge to knock his hand away and tear the damn thing off by herself. Now they were _both_ wearing far too much clothing.

Cal smirked and laughed softly, low and deep in his throat. Gillian was looking at him like he was a piece of chocolate candy – all wide eyes and heavy breathing. Her hands clutched at him, and she called his name on a sigh as he ground himself into her again. "Cal…" she whispered. It was almost a plea.

"Patience, darling," he said, continuing the slow pace of his movements until the dress had been completely unzipped. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

And then with his eyes still locked on hers, Cal parted the fabric and let the dress slip from her shoulders. It landed in a silent pile at her feet, and she took his hand to step out of it. For a moment she couldn't help the wave of nervousness that washed over her. It was brief, but very real. She swallowed thickly and took a deep, calming breath as Cal raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. His gaze never wavered from hers – he hadn't looked down yet, hadn't let his eyes drop to study her body at all. He was more concerned with how she was _feeling_ in that moment, making sure she was comfortable and calm. And that's when she saw it… the look of pure adoration he gave her. The one that told her she was beautiful and wanted and loved. No one had ever looked at her that way before – it took her breath away.

Gillian smiled at him as all traces of nervousness slipped away; she was completely content. She loved him, and he loved her, and they were finally _there_… in the moment they'd both been waiting so many years to experience together. Nothing else had ever felt so right. "I love you," she breathed, delighting in his reaction to her words. Then she pressed herself against him and met him with a slow, lingering kiss as his hands traced her curves.

When he finally he stepped back to look at her, he couldn't speak. She stood in front of him in nothing but high heels and pink lace, and she was so beautiful he could hardly believe she was real. All of his blood instantly rushed south, making him so hard that he was amazed he could still stand upright. "My God, Gillian," he stammered. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." It wasn't as eloquent as he would have liked, but she looked pleased, and that's all that mattered to him.

Gillian stepped out of her heels and reached for him again; her confidence was flowing and she decided to use it to her advantage. She snaked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled, brining her mouth against his ear and his lower body close enough that she could feel the hard length of him pressing through the lace. And then – fully aware of what the words would do to him – she spoke directly into his ear. "Have I been patient enough, Cal?" she whispered. "Or are you going to make me wait a bit longer?"

Cal hadn't expected the growl that erupted from within him when he heard those words. It came out of nowhere – primal and lusting, and raw in its intensity. Gillian was practically begging him, and he'd be damned if he didn't give her what she wanted. He flew into action, making short work of the belt and then moving on to the button and zipper that were hidden behind it. Gillian just kept right on kissing him, swirling her tongue against his in the most perfect way - she was so bloody fantastic at it that he'd gotten momentarily distracted and damn near ended up in a giant tangle on the floor at her feet. Once he recovered, he quickly pushed his pants and briefs down and off, and then he kicked them both away – not caring where they ended up as long as they were no longer on his body.

She couldn't help herself. Really and truly… she couldn't help it. She tried to be calm and composed about the whole thing, tried to keep her eyes locked with his and not peek right away. And Cal wasn't helping matters at all – standing there all smirking and naked and so sexy that it was a miracle her legs were even holding her upright anymore. He was looking at her like he had a big, juicy secret and from what she'd felt earlier, she was pretty damn sure she knew what it was. And so within a matter of seconds, she caved and let her eyes wander.

Gillian didn't have to say a word. Cal heard her sharp intake of breath, saw the blush that instantly fanned its way across her cheeks, and then he saw her eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and approval. He grinned smugly and dipped his head to lightly nip at the soft skin of her throat. "I promised it would be worth the wait," he teased. "And trust me, darling… I intend to deliver."

Then it was her turn to growl – though he was pretty sure she did it on purpose, just to tease him. In any case, he loved it… loved seeing this side of her. It was already a sweet addiction. He pressed a quick line of kisses up the column of her throat and against her lips and then stepped away from her, turning his attention to the bed that stood nearby. "Hold that thought, love," he called as he fussed with the pillows and blankets, pulling them back to expose the soft cotton sheets underneath.

Task accomplished, he spun on his heel to face her again. And there she stood, smugly smirking at him as she dangled her pink lace bra off one finger, holding it by the strap. Her eyes were wide an innocent, and her smile was a dare.

Of all the times that Cal had imagined this night in his head, it had never once played out like this. He was totally floored by her boldness. Totally floored, and more aroused than he could ever remember being in his life. Every single thing that was happening between them was better than any fantasy he'd dared to entertain. Every look, every touch, every kiss – all of it. She was the epitome of everything he wanted, and the fact that she wanted him just as badly made him almost dizzy with excitement. He couldn't have spoken if he tried… every single spare blood cell that was circulating above his waist instantly shot to his groin at the sight of her, naked save for one tiny pair of pink lace panties, and grinning like a vixen.

Gillian twirled the bra on her fingertip and then flung it to the side, letting it land in a heap on top of Cal's pants. She was planning to walk over to him slowly… teasingly. Testing his whole "patience is a virtue" innuendo to the max. But by her second step, Cal had regained control of his limbs and crashed against her, turning them so that her back faced the bed and he became the one in control of their movements.

His mouth was fierce against hers – his tongue instantly slid between her lips and wrestled with hers as his hands cupped her breasts, palming the delicate skin and brushing the peaks with his thumbs until she cried out in delight. She could feel the length of him pressed against her, hard and ready, but before she had a chance to touch him, the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she moaned against his mouth. _Finally_, she thought, as he lowered her onto the surface. He stood and she sat, looking up at him with swollen lips and excited eyes. Then just as she expected to feel his weight on top of her, he kneeled down, hooked his hands under her knees, and pulled. The lower half of her body slid forward, until it was practically hanging off the mattress, and the top half fell back at bit, so that she caught herself on her elbows. And then before she could process what was about to happen, Cal slid the final scrap of lace from her body and settled himself between her legs.

"Oh God," she breathed, sheer anticipation making her pulse skyrocket. He hadn't even touched her yet, but the very thought of what he was about to do already had her on edge.

"I always keep my promises, Gillian," he said. And then he lowered his head and began to please her in a way she'd only dared imagine could ever be real.

Gillian writhed beneath him as his fingers quickly joined his mouth. She panted and moaned and bucked against him, to the point that he placed one arm across her hip to hold her still. Her arms shook, threatening to give out and send her shoulders toppling against the mattress, but she couldn't let go. She fought against the urge to close her eyes, and instead looked down at him – watching him as he pleasured her. She'd never done that before… never watched. She'd always been too shy and self-conscious. But this was Cal, and she felt wholly and completely loved. And so, she looked.

His eyes were open, wild and black with desire, and totally locked onto hers – it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen. Within just a few short minutes, she felt it… she felt the heat building low in her abdomen and she felt every muscle beginning to tremble. His free hand still rested against her hip and she reached for it, lacing their fingers together and letting them fall back against her skin. Slowly, the trembling began to center in her pelvis and then with one last stroke of his fingers, she crashed – gasping and moaning and breathing his name like a prayer, until her body was positively humming and completely satisfied.

She was still panting when he pulled finally his mouth away from her a moment later. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling, and as he continued to stroke her with his fingers, she thrashed her head back and forth a tiny bit, silently trying to tell him that she could take no more. "Cal, please…" she breathed. He wasn't sure if it was a warning, or a request, so he just grinned at her but did not stop.

He stood up off the floor but kept himself bent at the waist, so that he still leaned over her body. There was so much he wanted to explore, to learn, to _feel_ with her – he wanted to memorize every inch and every freckle, and find exactly what else he could do that would make her cry out his name, just as she had moments before. She was now officially the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, _and_ the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.

"Cal, please…" she breathed again, more forcefully this time. She was still propped up on her elbows and she began to scoot herself up the bed, towards the pillows. He threw his knees over the mattress and gently climbed on, careful not to fall against her too quickly. Gillian's mouth dropped open in surprise and she let out a tiny little moan, and then he knew – it was definitely a plea.

Each time she slid her body toward the headboard, he followed her. He hovered above her, doing a bit of a crawl because of their slow movements. He was still bent at the waist and braced himself on the mattress with one arm, letting his fingers still stroke her slowly to keep her right on the edge of her second release.

When her head finally reached the pillows, Gillian flung her arms around Cal's neck and pulled him down on top of her. She kissed him deeply, slipping her tongue into his mouth and moaning as one hand fisted across his back and the other wandered downward to stroke the length of him. Cal caught her wrist just before her fingers closed around his length. She'd barely gotten to touch him at all – just enough to feel both the heat and the hardness that pulsed through him. On instinct she moved her legs a bit wider and called his name again.

Cal settled over her, bracing himself so that his weight did not crush her, and then he eased forward a bit – slowly, until just the head of him rested against her. Gillian's eyes had gone glassy; she clutched onto this forearms and stroked them up and down, memorizing the feel of them, his muscles tense and in complete control above her. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, and the anticipation was just about to kill her.

He spoke her name so sweetly that the sincerity of it damn near brought her to tears. She focused again, her eyes finding his and easily reading all the love and desire that poured from them, into her. She smiled instantly, and lifted one hand up to caress the side of his face.

"I love you Gillian," he said softly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "I've always loved you."

"I love you too," she answered. "So very much."

Then he pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss and pushed his hips forward, sliding into her in one smooth stroke.

Gillian had never felt anything so intense in her entire life. Physically, emotionally… all of it was everything she'd hoped for, everything she'd wanted with him for as long as she could remember. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, screaming for release despite the fact that he'd given her an earth-shattering one just a few minutes earlier. Her body didn't care – it reacted to Cal with desperation, fiercely clutching on to him as he moved within her.

Cal's body was damn near on sensory overload. She was warm and slick and gripped him so bloody tightly that it was all he could do to control himself after merely a few seconds inside her. He stroked slowly at first, trying to draw it out for her – make sure it was everything she wanted. But Gillian writhed beneath him, moaning and whimpering in a way that shot directly to his groin and only spurred him on faster. She met him movement for movement, matching both his pace and his intensity, and he felt himself right on the edge of release much too quickly.

Gillian felt out of control. Muscles she didn't even know she had were shaking and trembling with sheer desire, and Cal was relentless in his intensity. He knew the perfect combination of angle, speed, and force… knew exactly how to move against her, exactly how to touch her. He reached his hand between their bodies to stroke her again, but she grabbed it away and pulled his lips against hers, kissing him fiercely.

He quirked an eyebrow in silent confusion, but Gillian just smiled. She didn't need anything else… just the feel of him inside her was enough. And then all of a sudden he changed his angle just the slightest bit, pressed in a little bit deeper and a little bit faster and she was gone. She gasped – literally unable to breathe for a few seconds as her body clamped down on his length, and then she finally released a long, drawn out moan that ended in his name.

As soon as Cal felt her walls squeeze against him, he knew he couldn't hold back any longer. Not this time… everything felt so bloody incredible and he loved her so damn much, and part of him was shocked that he'd managed to stave it off as long as he did. He shifted back on his heels a bit, giving himself more leverage as he raced toward his own release. And then she said it – the words he had already grown addicted to. "I love you, Cal," she breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes. She was beautiful and completely content.

Cal let loose with a rough, guttural roar as every muscle in his entire body began to tremble. He heard Gillian moan beneath him again, felt her hands slide down his back and pull him even deeper into her, and then he was gone. Light exploded behind his eyes and his heart rate soared; he called her name in one loud, clear wail and then finally released inside of her.

Gillian immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, happy to bear his weight against her chest. She spoke in nonsensical murmurs and peppered the side of his face with kisses as she stroked his damp hair. They were both panting – both physically and emotionally exhausted, and it took a few moments before he was able to find the energy to roll off of her. When he did, his head collapsed onto the pillow beside her, and he opened his arms to fold her against his chest.

She rolled into him, propping herself up on her elbow to study his face. "You're amazing, you know that?" she whispered, delighting in the smile that instantly appeared when he heard the words.

"Well, I aim to please," he joked, tossing her a wink and his trademark half-grin. Exhausted as he was, he was never too tired to flirt.

Gillian giggled, and leaned down to kiss him softly. She had every intention of cuddling up against him and taking a quick nap – even as her lips pressed against his and they both instinctively sighed in satisfaction. Even as she felt his hands come alive up and down the length of her spine, gently kneading her soft skin. And even as he tipped his head to the side and deepened their kiss, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip…

But then he pushed against her shoulder and sent her tumbling back into the mattress. And then she felt his fingers begin to wander across her chest and dip downward toward her thighs. That's when she knew it was going to be a very long night.

She had no idea how he'd managed it, but Cal was instantly re-charged. He popped up on his elbow and peered down at her, smirking openly. "Fancy another round, love? Never promised I'd stop at two."

By the time she could respond, he was already pressing nipping kisses up the column of her throat. She moaned in delight and pulled him tighter against her, only pausing to speak the one word that rang clearly in her mind. "Fireworks."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: This chapter is also rated M. Hadn't planned on another one, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Thanks again for reading, and for all the lovely reviews!**_

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><p>Gillian groaned and rolled over in Cal's bed to smack the snooze alarm again. She pulled the comforter tight around herself, snuggling into its warmth and allowed her mind to drift, hoping to get just a few more minutes of sleep. It had been a very long night indeed – they'd finally fallen asleep sometime around dawn, completely spent and blissfully happy. How in the world Cal had managed to jump right out of bed, fully energized, was beyond her. Lingering adrenaline, perhaps. Lord knows he had enough of it. The things that man could do…<p>

She smiled and sighed, then threw the covers back in defeat. Her imagination had already begun to wander, and the sound of Cal's shower running in the background was suddenly much more interesting than another nine minutes of rest. Yes, she was being impulsive – they were already running late and still had to at least _try_ to show up at the office on time. But still… the thought of a quick little escapade in the shower was very, very tempting.

She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one rumpled sheet and debating her next move. There were a few changes of clothes still stashed in Cal's guest room from her last overnight stay – that alone would save her a trip across town to her apartment before work. And if she skipped breakfast too, that just might give her… oh, say thirty extra minutes of leeway. Gillian grinned. The thought of everything they could manage to do in thirty minutes made her positively giddy. Just one night in his arms and she was already addicted.

Gillian padded naked and barefoot toward the bathroom door and listened. She could hear Cal's voice over the steady stream of water - he was actually singing. Sinatra, by the sound of it. She never would have pegged him as a shower singer, but he was actually pretty good. He sounded relaxed and happy, to the point that she could hear the smile in his voice through the muffled lyrics.

Sneaking, she edged the door open and stepped onto the cool tile. If he was aware of her presence, he certainly didn't show it… he just kept right on humming and singing and sounding happier than she'd heard him in years. She could see the outline of his body through the thick glass door – he was turned away from her, soaping his hair and clearly not expecting company. _Perfect_.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked as she quickly slid the door open and stepped in behind him.

Cal gave an excited little growl under his breath and then turned to face her, grinning wickedly. Gillian's eyes shot to the top of his head in surprise – he'd fashioned a short, makeshift mow hawk with the shampoo suds. It looked totally out of character and completely adorable, especially given the expression on his face. She couldn't help herself – she tried to cover her mouth before the giggles burst through, but it was no use. He was just too damn cute.

"Not exactly the reaction a man wants to hear when he's naked, love. Performance anxiety, and all that."

"Sorry," she managed, the giggles quickly dying off as he pressed against her. His arms wrapped around her waist and she raised her chin on instinct, baring her neck to him. His lips stroked against her throat immediately, and Gillian gave a distracted moan. Talking was the last thing on her mind, but she felt just the tiniest bit guilty for laughing at him.

"I couldn't help it," she offered. "You're just so…"

Cal tossed her a half-hearted pout as the last traces of shampoo disappeared under the spray. "Please don't say adorable."

"I wasn't going to," she lied, knowing he would catch it.

He quirked a brow at her, but let the comment pass and turned his attention back to her neck. "Ruggedly handsome sounds much better," he offered. "Maybe even dashing? Sexy?" Each thought was punctuated with a wet, open mouthed kiss against her warm skin as his fingers traced her curves.

"All of the above," she breathed, and she felt him smile against her.

"That's my girl."

"Always," she said.

Cal's lips shifted from her throat to the sensitive skin just below her ear, and her eyes hooded over as he teased the spot relentlessly. She moaned as he began to work his thumbs over her breasts, arching into his touch and sliding her hands down his back in silent encouragement. That mouth of his was dangerous – it made her want to give in to every naughty desire she'd ever had and never leave his house again.

When he lifted his head a moment later, his eyes locked with hers as he took one final step forward and pressed her into the shower wall. A split second of silence passed between them – just long enough for her to read his expression. Love… desire… uninhibited passion. It made her dizzy to think all of that was finally hers. That _he_ was finally hers.

Gillian crashed against his mouth and slipped her tongue inside, eagerly stroking against him. Her fingers plunged through his wet hair, pulling lightly to anchor him in place. She swallowed his groan as the kiss deepened, delighting in the feel of his entire body against hers, hard and strong and ready. She couldn't get enough of him.

Cal hooked one hand under her knee and lifted it over his hip. Gillian took the hint, bracing against his shoulders for support and quickly wrapping both legs around his waist. He brushed against her entrance, teasing and testing – waiting to hear that one magic word spill from her lips.

"_Please_…"

With a quick shift of his hips, he stroked inside.

Gillian gasped at the sensation, then let out a long, drawn out moan. Her eyes closed automatically and her head dropped forward to nuzzle against him. She pressed her lips against his neck, his throat, his jaw – every single inch of skin that she could reach, again and again in time with the rhythm of his hips.

Cal was relentless. She'd expected him to tease her a bit, just as he'd done the night before. To take her right to the edge and then back away, only to drive her higher and higher before finally giving her a release. But not this time. His movements were quick and steady, and he kept hitting that one perfect spot… the one that made her eyes roll back in her head and her hips buck against his involuntarily.

Within seconds, she was panting his name, rocking against him as much as their position allowed. And every time she shifted, she could hear his breathing change – feel the length of him grow impossibly harder inside her. He was as close to the edge as she was, and each of them was trying to hold out for the other.

"Look at me, Gill."

His voice was strained and desperate, and she knew exactly what he wanted. To see the look in her eyes when she finally crashed… and to know that it was because of him. That it was _for_ him.

Her eyes met his instantly, and she was gone – every single muscle pulsed against him, clutching him so tightly that she began to see stars. She could hear nothing, save for the pounding of her own heart and the sound of his name echoing off the walls of the small shower as she came apart in his arms.

And then with a few final strokes, he followed her – gasping her name again and again through gritted teeth and burning lungs. He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her gently before lowering her legs to the ground.

Cal pulled her off the shower wall and into his arms again. His hands rubbed a soothing caress up her spine and over her shoulders, and then he kissed her again, slow and sweet.

"I love you, Gillian," he said.

Her smile lit up her entire face, and her reply was instant. "I love you, too."

"Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Promise me it'll always be like this?"

Gillian cupped Cal's cheek in her palm, stroking the smooth skin with her thumb. "I think it always has been," she answered. "We're just not afraid to see it anymore."


	11. Epilogue

**A/N: _Epilogue_**

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><p>"Remind me again why I'm doing this?"<p>

Emily was doing her best to sound melodramatic and irritable, but Cal knew better. He could hear the slight teasing tone in her voice as she questioned him, and even though they were having the conversation over the phone and not face to face, he could still almost read her reaction.

Cal smiled automatically, leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the desk. "Because you love your father," he quipped.

She sighed into the receiver, and Cal could picture her frowning slightly, trying to figure out if there were ulterior motives at work here, or if he just flat out needed a favor. He wasn't about to give the game away, though… it was only a matter of time before she figured it out for herself.

"And….?" Emily prompted, teasing him and implying that she needed further explanation.

Cal scoffed. "And, nothing," he retorted. "I think that's bloody well reason enough, don't you?"

He could hear Emily's footsteps in the background as she walked down the hall to his bedroom, and then she laughed quietly. "Fine, I guess it is. But I still don't understand the secrecy. I mean, if you need to borrow something from Gillian, why can't you just get it yourself? You guys _do_ live under the same roof now, dad… it's not like it would be hard."

That was true, of course. But it was risky – Cal thought it best to wait until he and Gillian were both out of the house and then recruit Emily to help set everything in motion.

"If Gill catches me in there rooting through her stuff, she'll go all cranky on me," he explained. "You, on the other hand, are a less conspicuous choice."

"So let me get this straight… you're sending me into your bedroom, to steal something from Gillian, just because I love you?"

"Steal seems a bit drastic, Em. More like borrow, and it'll only be for a couple of hours – she probably won't even know it's missing. Tell you what… I'll treat you to lunch. You can hand it over then, yeah?"

Through the phone, Cal heard the bedroom door open and he braced himself for Emily's reaction once he told her his plan. She was completely in the dark about it so far – and that was crucial. He didn't think she'd blab about it, of course… but Gillian would probably take one look at her and just know something was up. Emily wouldn't be able to hide it completely.

"Okay, I'm in here. _Now_ will you please tell me what I'm supposed to steal?"

"Borrow," he reiterated, smiling at the way she emphasized the word 'now.'

"Semantics," she sighed.

"Smart ass."

"Yeah, well, I take after you."

Cal laughed – he couldn't help it. Their conversation was spiraling completely off-track, and he didn't have much time left before Gillian finished reviewing the footage in the audio lab and headed his way. He couldn't take a chance that she would overhear his conversation with Emily and end up spoiling the whole plan.

Refocusing, he took a deep breath and braced himself for Emily's reaction. "Gillian has a jewelry box on the left side of the dresser – do you see that, love?"

"Yep, I see it," she answered. "Please don't tell me I'm supposed to _borrow_ this whole thing? Trust me, dad. She will definitely notice that it's missing."

"No worries, Em. I don't need the whole thing, just something she keeps inside it."

"Ookkaayy," she answered, drawing out the word suspiciously. "What do you need, anyway? And why does Gillian keep your stuff in her jewelry box?"

"She doesn't." Cal was just waiting for her to put the pieces together… he was a bit shocked she hadn't done so already.

"You're acting weird – even for you."

Cal bit back a witty reply, deciding to leave the comment alone. Instead, his only response was a muffled laugh as Emily uttered a suspicious sounding, "_Wait a minute_," followed by a sharp intake of breath. He'd love to see her reaction right about now, just as she started to figure it out. She was probably standing there all wide eyed and slack jawed, which he knew would only last a few seconds before the shrieking started.

"Dad, I swear to God, if this is just all some kind of joke, I will seriously hurt you. I'm not kidding, alright? Not even a little bit." She spoke in a very quiet, cautiously hopeful tone of voice, almost as if she were afraid to say anything out loud for fear that she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Cal was grinning now, fueled by Emily's excitement and his own nerves. "Now don't go getting violent on me," he quickly answered. "It's no joke – cross my heart, and all that."

There was silence on Emily's end for a few short seconds, and then she reacted. _Loudly_. So bloody loudly that he was surprised the entire Lightman Group staff didn't hear her squealing from all the way across town. He waited a few seconds for her enthusiasm to die down just a bit, and then tentatively tried to speak again.

"You alright there, Em?" he laughed. "Didn't shatter the windows or anything with all that shrieking, did you?"

"Very funny," she said. "The windows are fine, and I'm fine. I'm completely thrilled, just a little bit stunned, and definitely ready to meet you for lunch. Just one question, though."

"Ask away," he answered quietly, letting his eyes scan the hallway for any sign of Gillian.

"Does it matter which one of these I grab?"

"Not at all – any of them will do. Just need one for a reference point."

A few seconds later, Cal heard the hinge of the jewelry box squeak as the lid was closed, and then the soft sound of Emily's footsteps landing back in the hallway. "Got it," she said, her tone still that of barely contained enthusiasm.

"See you soon, love."

* * *

><p>An hour later Cal sat across town with a still-bubbly Emily, making faces at the hotel art on his lunch plate and looking generally grumpy. "For the life of me, I still can't understand why you like this place," he frowned.<p>

Emily grinned, fully aware that it was all just an act. Her father might be acting like his traditionally sarcastic self on the outside, but on the inside, she knew he was just nervous as hell and trying to hide it. She'd seen this side of him once before, right around the time he asked Gillian to move in with them. He'd practically driven her crazy for the entire week before it happened – moping and sulking one minute, high-strung and annoying the next. Turns out he had been worried for nothing, just as Emily predicted.

This was the same thing. Well, not exactly the same thing because this was bigger… and if ever there should be a time when a man was justifiably nervous, this was it. But still, she knew it would all turn out fine.

Emily fought off a knowing smirk and offered a pointed observation instead. "Gillian likes it too, you know," she said, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

It worked, for the most part. Cal quirked a brow at her, gave a little head nod that told her he definitely noticed the smirk, and then tossed his napkin on the table. "Is this where you two run off to when I'm not around? Bit of shopping and then pop off for some… what'd you call it? Art, for your stomach?"

She smiled and shook her head, amused at his attempt to be grouchy. "Well, we think it's sophisticated."

"Sophisticated must be another word for expensive," he quietly quipped. But when he caught Emily's eye from across the table, he did at least have enough sense to look apologetic.

Sensing an opening, she dove in with both feet. "You know, I would expect you to be just a little bit more cheerful considering I did you a pretty big favor this morning."

Cal sobered then, sat up a bit straighter in his chair, and extended his hand palm-up across the table. "Right you are, love," he said cheerfully. "Hand it over."

Emily waggled her finger at him in an exaggerated '_no'_ gesture, and then crossed her arms in her lap. "Not so fast," she insisted, completely unable to stop the giggles that burst forth when she saw his deflated expression. He looked like a little boy who had just lost his favorite toy.

"There are a few rules here, dad. I just need to make sure we understand each other."

Cal rolled his eyes and sighed, but did his best to humor her. "Bloody hell, Emily. What is it with you and rules, anyway? I'm getting déjà-vu, here."

"They're for your own good," she answered.

"I'll be the judge of that, yeah?"

Emily grinned and then held up one finger to illustrate the first point. "Rule number one," she began. "Go with your gut. Don't over analyze this, okay? Just pick the one that speaks to you."

Cal had to admit, that was pretty good advice. It had been ages since he'd done this, and he felt an almost paralyzing fear of saying or doing or choosing the wrong thing. Short of bringing Emily along with him (_which he knew she would request_), he'd gladly listen to any suggestion she wanted to give him.

"That's a pretty good one, love," he agreed.

Emily smiled, clearly pleased with herself, and then held up two fingers. "Rule number two," she said. "Try to relax. Gillian can read you better than anyone, and if you don't get the nerves under control she'll figure this whole thing out the minute you start talking."

Cal swallowed and his eyes got a bit wider as he mulled her words. Truth be told, he thought he _was_ doing a pretty good job of hiding the nerves. But if Emily could see through him, then Gillian sure as hell would, too. "Easier said than done, Em," he replied. "But point taken. I'll do my best."

"I know you will," she agreed. "Which brings us to rule number three."

Once again, three fingers were held up in illustration, and Cal laughed quietly. "Like I said, déjà-vu," he joked. "Let me guess… rule number three is still your favorite?"

Emily narrowed her eyes at him playfully, and then gestured to her coat pocket where Gillian's ring was tucked safely away. "I could just hold this hostage, you know? I _could_ just let you waltz right up to the jeweler and _guess_ what size she wears."

"And risk ruining my big moment with a ring that's too bloody small? Seems a bit harsh."

"Maybe, but so is making fun of your daughter when she's trying to look out for your best interest," she said.

Emily gave a charming smile, the kind she used to flash him all the time when she was younger and trying to weasel him out of a new doll or toy or some such thing. And for a moment, he felt a bit nostalgic – sometimes it felt like he'd blinked, and she was practically a grown up.

Cal held up his hands in mock defeat and leaned back in his chair. "Right you are, love. Moving on… tell me all about rule number three."

"You'll like this one," she insisted. "Never forget to tell her that you love her – with actual words, not just with your face muscles. Gillian deserves to hear it, dad. Every single day."

Cal mulled Emily's words, and for the first time that day, he felt the nerves easing off a bit. "You, my dear, are very wise."

She nodded at him in agreement, and then spoke sincerely. "Yeah, well… like I said, I take after you."

Both of them were quiet for a moment, and then Emily reached into her pocket to retrieve the simple ring that she'd _borrowed_ from Gillian. She held it between her thumb and forefinger and then extended it across the table to Cal. Now he was positively beaming, with no trace of nervousness anywhere in sight – the excitement was beginning to wind its way through his body and then out his limbs, making his feet tap incessantly against the tile floor. And as soon as the jewelry hit his palm, he sprung up out of his seat and reached into his wallet for enough cash to pay the check.

He tossed the money on the table and then bent down to kiss his daughter on the top of the head. "Thanks, love," he told her. "Hate to eat and run, but I have to see a man about a rock."

Emily beamed up at him – she thought she'd gotten her excitement under control, but his enthusiasm was positively contagious. "I don't suppose you'd want a shopping buddy, would you?" she tried, fully aware that he was going to say no. "I mean, a girl's opinion might come in handy in the midst of all those diamonds."

He shot her a sincere but apologetic smile. "Tell you what," he offered. "If I'm lucky enough to get her to say yes, then you and Gill can shop your hearts out preparing for the wedding. Sound good?" The minute the word hit the air, his grin widened. _Wedding_… it almost didn't even sound real. Sometimes it was hard to believe how far they'd come.

Cal grabbed his jacket and then bent one more time to give Emily a quick hug. He'd gotten only a few steps away when she called to him with one last question. "Are you sure you're ready for this, dad?" she asked.

He stopped mid-stride and looked back over his shoulder. The answer was simple. "With all my heart."

END


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